


A Stranger in Skyrim - Redux

by Nekhs



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: ADHD, Canon-Typical Violence, Companions Questline (Elder Scrolls), Dissociation, Gen, Impulsivity, NaNoWriMo 2020, Nonbinary Character, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rewrite, Self-Insert, Skyrim Main Quest, lycanthropy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:14:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 26,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27331759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekhs/pseuds/Nekhs
Summary: Dropped unexpectedly into the world of Skyrim, can a nobody from Earth handle the trials of being Dovahkiin?AU where TES was never written.This is a rewrite of a very old fic of mine, with added age, wisdom, and pronouns.
Comments: 153
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome aboard the NaNo 2020 train. Choo choo! I've decided to unearth and rewrite a rather ancient fic of mine - so old it was originally posted on FF.net. 
> 
> Followers of the original will note the updated pronouns, slightly improved technical skill, and various minor (major?) adjustments to the plot.
> 
> Have fun!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they're surely dreaming.

At first, there was Nothing.

Gray static, neither cold nor warm, neither bright nor dark, a vast expanse of  _ Nothing _ that stretched as far as the eye could see - assuming, of course, that they even had eyes.

Did they have eyes? They couldn’t feel anything. They tried to lift their hands, but nothing happened. There was simply nothing to see, except for the enormous crimson eye.

_ Wait, what? _

But no, they perceived it, and in seeing it, they drew closer, and in drawing closer, the reptilian orb focused, peering at them with disinterest.

_ “What are you?" _

The language was certainly not English, though they understood it clearly enough. As the eye regarded them, they felt themself solidify. Human, was their first thought, a little on the pudgy side, with pale skin, hazel eyes and brown hair. They couldn’t quite remember the details of the tattoo on their wrist, but it hardly mattered; their tentatively-developed sense of identity shuddered under the weight of the creature’s intense scrutiny.

It waited.

They replied.

_ “Human?” _ Startled, they realized that they had replied in kind, sharing the language of the strange creature that now regarded them coldly.

A second eye joined the first, an enormous black maw pushing forward from the Nothing. Both eyes fixed upon them, and they found that they could not hold the great beast’s gaze.  _ “Impossible,”  _ it spoke, voice rumbling dangerously.  _ “There are no humans like you.” _

_ “Apologies,” _ They focused on the horns, the scales, not directly meeting its eyes, but still observing the massive head as it pierced the static of the void.  _ “But  _ **_I am_ ** _ human.” _

As they spoke, as they asserted their existence, the Nothing shuddered. The beast recoiled, rearing back, and they got the sense that it - that he - was incensed by the sheer audacity it took to defy him.

_ “Then your existence is a mistake,” _ he growled.  _ “And one I will rectify.” _

It was probably wisest to abandon all pretense of courage - to flee, to escape. This felt like a dream, however, and in dreams they could afford bravado.  _ “ _ **_I am_ ** _ sorry,” _ they replied, weaving in The Words again.  _ “But  _ **_I_ ** _ will not bow to you.” _

The Nothing cracked around the edges, leaking color and sound into the dream. They focused on the monster, but noted the changes all the same.

_ “Then you will perish!” _

His roar shattered the Nothing, sending them careening back toward their body with a harsh explosion of pain.

* * *

They jolted awake, their back thumping against hard wood. They realized, painfully, that they had been sitting up, a position they’d never before managed to fall asleep in. They heard a horse snort, hooves clopping against stone, with wooden wheels clattering behind. While they had never personally ridden in one before, they realized with alarm that they’d apparently been loaded into a horse-drawn cart. They shifted their weight, sitting more upright.

Scratchy ropes tied their hands together, announcing their presence in the way they restricted their movement. They looked down at the bindings, puzzled, noting dully that they could see them clearly. No haze clouded their vision; they could pick out the individual threads of the patchy tunic they’d been dressed in. 

That was odd, given that they also weren’t wearing their glasses.

“Hey, you. You’re finally awake.” Their eyes snapped up to the speaker, a bearded, blond man who was significantly better dressed for the weather. He wore a tunic, a chain cuirass, and a padded cloth gambeson over it, with a blue sash over  _ that _ just for good measure.

Honestly, he was probably toasty. They found themself jealous; their threadbare rags did little to nothing to combat the frigid mountain air.

The medieval garb they were dressed in reminded them of the Renaissance Faire, and they wondered if they’d agreed to some kind of production. “Uhn.” It wasn’t particularly eloquent, but it adequately summed up their thoughts thus far.

“What province are you from, girl? I have a bet with one of the others - you’re from Cyrodiil, right? Trying to cross the border?”

They shook their head, trying to clear away the static between their ears.  _ Province? Cyrodiil? _

Wait. “Uh, no. I’m from the States.” Maybe they’d just flunked geography harder than they thought, but they were fairly certain Canada didn’t have a province named Cyrodiil, did it?

He looked at them strangely, and they wondered if that was the wrong response. Probably, especially if this was some kind of production. “Never heard of any ‘States,’” he replied, grimly. “Not that it’ll matter, soon enough.”

“Oh?”

He smiled sadly at them, which was decidedly not an answer.

A man’s voice spoke up, drawing their attention to the greasy, dark-haired fellow beside Blondie. “Damn you, Stormcloaks,” the other man spat. “Skyrim was fine before you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn’t been looking for you, I’d have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell.” The man looked directly at them, and they instantly felt uncomfortable. “You there,” he said, trying to rope them into the conversation. “You and me, we shouldn’t be here. It’s these Stormcloaks the Empire wants.”

“We’re all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief.”

Another man, sounding exasperated, called back from the front of the cart. “Shut up, back there.”

“Anyway,” the thief continued, ignoring the command. “What’s wrong with him, huh?” He jerked his chin towards the last of the men in the cart. Like the rest of them, this fellow was bound at the wrists. He wore thick furs and a dour expression. Notably, he was unable to respond for himself: he’d been gagged.

A low growl escaped the noble(?) man, but it was stifled by the gag. 

Blondie snapped. "Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!"

"Ulfric?" The thief's eyes widened. His voice held a faint tremble as he continued: "The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've captured you … oh Gods, where are they taking us?"

Blondie sighed. "I don't know where we're going," he began, "But Sovngarde awaits."

"No," the thief stammered out his denial. "This can't be happening - this isn't happening!"

_ Now we don't have time to unpack all of that …. _

So, firstly, they were in a place called Skyrim. 

Which was part of an Empire. 

Which was currently engaged in some kind of war. 

With the 'leader of the rebellion' in chains, the war was probably drawing to a close. 

Which meant this cartful of prisoners was headed … nowhere good.

_ Fuck me, _ they thought, but they kept quiet, for now. 

None of this made sense, at least, not in the waking world. Where was their home? Their cozy bed? Had they simply woken from one dream into another? 

"Hey," Blondie began, shaking them from their reverie. "What village are you from, horse thief?"

They almost felt sorry for the man. He still looked a bit like he was about to cry. "W-why do you care?"

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

The thief looked away for a moment. "Rorikstead," he muttered. "I'm - I'm from Rorikstead."

The cart trundled on, silence stretching between them. 

Slowly, they approached a medieval-looking stone fortress. As with the prisoners' altogether too authentic garb, they could find no flaws with the production. All the soldiers had matching armor. No one was wearing tennis shoes. There were no phones, no cameras, no cars. The walls were rough-hewn stone, the wooden buildings topped with thatch roofing.

Nothing suggested even a hint of inauthenticity, and they found themself increasingly nervous. 

_ It's just a dream, _ they tried to reassure themself, but Gods, their wrists ached, their back hurt, and it was bitterly cold - enough so that they couldn't quite stop shivering.  _ Lucky bastards, _ they thought, eyeing Blondie and the Jarl.

"General Tullius, sir!" One of the soldiers spoke loudly enough to be heard several carts back. "The headsman is waiting!"

A very tired sounding voice replied, "Good. Let's get this over with."

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh - Divines, please help me!" Why would the gods help a thief? Maybe they were some kind of equal-opportunity deities, the likes of which might overlook the many failings of a man? That would certainly be new. 

The gates opened, and Blondie caught her attention, jerking his chin at a small group of mounted soldiers down a side road. "Look at him - General Tullius, the military governor. And, it looks like the Thalmor are with him." He made a face. "Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this."

_ Elves? _ The golden-skinned woman atop that horse certainly had pointed ears - her features were all sharply-slanted angles, actually - but really.  _ Elves.  _ They decided it had to be stage makeup - or, even more likely, an elaborate dream. 

The cart rolled on, through the town. "This is Helgen," Blondie announced. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here … wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in." He smiled a bittersweet smile. "It's funny, you know. Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

"Who are they, daddy?" A child's young, high voice inquired. "Where are they going?"

The man's voice was just a little bit shaky. "You need to go inside, little cub."

They wouldn't want their child to witness an execution, after all - if they'd had one.

Gods. An execution. 

_ Why do things happen as they do in dreams …? _

The carts arranged themselves in a neat row by the fat wall. A woman's imperious voice demanded that they get the prisoners out of the carts, and  _ now, _ no less.

None of it felt real, and they got that vague sense that their body was down and to the right - as though everything was disconnected from itself, somehow. 

Was it still dissociation if it happened in a dream? 

The others climbed to their feet, and slowly, they followed suit. The problem came at the end of the cart, when the distance between their feet and the ground became apparent. 

It wasn't a particularly steep fall, but their mind stretched four feet out into four miles. 

_ Nope, nope, nope - _

"What's the matter, girl?" One of the leather-clad soldiers asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Scared? You should be."

They slowly, mechanically, sank to their knees. The rough wood was just as cold as everything else, and a sudden breeze cut through their thin rags like they were naked.  _ Out of the cart, _ they thought, dazedly. Both hands came together on their left, both legs swung to their right, and they were sitting on the end of the cart, now, their toes dangling over the drop.

"Get a move on, girl."

They stretched their toes out and down -  _ we can do this _ \- but the ground wasn't any closer.  _ Come on. Come on. _

Finally, they swallowed heavily, shifting all of their weight off the end of the cart. Their bare feet slapped the cobblestones painfully, but they'd landed on solid ground. 

"You there," the woman's voice called. "Step forward."

In the time they'd taken to escape the cart, the other prisoners had all arranged themselves into orderly lines. 

Except for the whiny horse thief. 

Blood pooled around his cooling body. An archer pressed their boot into his back, ripping the arrows free. One, two, three.

Oh. Oh, they felt faint. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's Dead You Know


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they're not quite dead yet.

This wasn’t precisely the first time they’d seen a dead body.

Hells, but it wasn’t even the first time they’d witnessed one in real life - _wasn’t it just a dream? It had to be a dream_ \- it had just … been a while.

And it hadn’t been anyone they’d known.

And it hadn’t been like this - it hadn’t been a fresh kill. The cadaver lab was a far cry from watching the thief’s limp body, blood oozing from his throat, from his chest, pooling around his face. 

They froze. The soldier from the cart shoved them forward, and they stumbled, landing on their knees in front of the man and woman wearing full plate armor, and they _knew_ , beyond a shadow of a doubt, they were going to die.

“Please,” they looked up at the pair, giving their best ‘kicked puppy’ impression. “Please, I’m no rebel. I don’t even know where I am.”

The man had a book with him. He checked it over, then looked pityingly down at them.

“Who are you?”

They looked hopeful. “Neko,” they enunciated carefully, focusing on the way they drew out the ‘e.’ That mispronunciation was a part of their identity, and had been since they were young. “I’m not with them, there has to be some kind of mistake.”

“Captain,” the man said. “She’s not on the list.”

They turned their expression hopefully on the woman, who sniffed dismissively. “Forget the list. She goes to the block.”

“By your orders, Captain.” He looked genuinely remorseful, but that hardly meant anything, did it. “I’m sorry.”

No, no, no - this wasn’t right. This wasn’t right, they weren’t supposed to die like this.

“Follow the captain, prisoner.” He dragged them to their feet by their bound wrists, then gently nudged them toward the neat little rows of docile Stormcloaks. 

For rebels, the men and women here were awfully compliant.

Neko was cold, tired, and eminently miserable. They didn’t understand anything that was happening, and with a dull sense of surprise realized they shouldn’t even be able to understand the language. Whatever was being spoken around them, it wasn’t English. The cadence and phrasing of things put them vaguely in mind of a romance language, but the fact that they _did_ understand it at all overshadowed anything else.

Including, for a brief moment, the actual words. They saw a man in fancy leathers pointing accusingly at Jarl Ulfric, jabbing his finger into the nobleman’s chest, but the actual words escaped them entirely.

Above it all, above the rooftops and the towers and the dull roar in the back of their head, there came a new sound, and one that chilled them to the bone.

“What was that?” One of the soldiers asked.

The man in the fancy armor - General Tullius, Blondie had called him - shook his head. “It’s nothing. Carry on.”

“Give them their last rites,” the captain ordered.

A woman wearing simple robes stepped forward. “As we commend your souls to Aetherius,” she began, lifting her voice and her hands to the ceremony, “Blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the salt - “

“For the love of Talos, shut up and let’s get this over with,” a red-headed rebel demanded, stepping forward aggressively.

The priestess (?) looked mildly affronted. “As you wish,” she said, stepping back. 

“Come on,” he demanded. “I haven’t got all morning!” The captain stepped up behind him, shoving him down before the neatly head-shaped block. “My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?”

He didn’t get a chance to say anything further: the headsman raised his axe.

The headsman brought his axe down with a sense of finality, chopping the redhead’s red head clean from his neck, and oh, they felt faint.

Blood sprayed everywhere, the coppery tang of it thick on the chill air. His neck steamed faintly where it oozed what was left of his life. His head had fallen neatly in a box that fit exactly one.

“Next! The prisoner in the rags!”

The prisoner in the rags was not in any fit state to move. They had frozen rather completely, and no amount of pushing was like to make them move forward by even a step. 

_No, no, no._

They shook violently, feeling ill, knowing that they were next, and this was just a dream, but what would happen if they died in a dream?

It - apparently - didn’t matter. Not yet, anyway.

The sound came once more, a roar that shook the very stones beneath their feet, and oh, Gods, but they _knew_ that sound.

Even before the massive form alighted on the tower, even before the meteors began raining from the heavens, even before those crimson eyes found theirs, they _recognized_ the creature.

Gods all help them.

But then the beast _did_ land on the tower. He spoke, and stone _did_ rain from the sky. His crimson eyes found theirs, and they would swear he _grinned._

Because, see, he had come to make good on his promise.

_Oh, fuck me._

They ran, blindly, scrabbling at the cobblestones as they fled for shelter, the nearest of which was a tower the Stormcloaks had gathered in. 

“Who’s this, then?” The Jarl’s voice was smooth like honey, and if it weren’t for the panic attack that had blossomed in their chest, they were certain they’d appreciate it more. 

Blondie spoke up. “One of the prisoners - Empire thought she was with us. Jarl Ulfric - what is that thing? Could the legends be true?”

“Legends don’t burn down villages,” the nobleman replied, with a sense of certainty that was oddly grounding. They found themself relaxing marginally, though only just. “This tower is defensible enough - you two - “ He gestured at Blondie and Neko. “I want you to get out there. If you see any Stormcloaks, send them to me.”

They would almost have taken offense at being drafted in that manner, but, well. They didn’t.

At least this way, they had something concrete to _do._

They scanned the sky as they peeked out into the courtyard once more. The dragon had lost them momentarily, instead snatching up stray soldiers and throwing them into the air. He seemed to be having _fun_ with it.

Gods all help them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh shit what up it's that boy
> 
> I never did get what the point of being sent up the fucking tower is. Past 'learn to jump' - like, there's not even an opening until Alduin makes one, so ??? Where are you supposed to be going exactly???


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything is ablaze.

Somewhere along the way, they’d gotten split up from Blondie. 

It wasn’t that they’d meant to - it was that everywhere they turned, the dragon seemed to be just a single step behind them. He was toying with them, cat and mouse, but they’d be damned if they were going to be caught.

"Haming," a soldier's voice called. "You need to get over here, now." Barely-controlled panic tinted his tone as he shouted at the young boy. The boy refused to leave a - was that another corpse? Gods, there were so many ….

They recognized the soldier's thick accent - he was the one who'd regretfully signed off on their death warrant. 

_ Peachy. _

"I'm not going to make it, little cub," another man - the man lying on the ground - explained. So, not a corpse  _ yet.  _

As they watched, the boy sluggishly pulled away from his father (?) and made his way to the soldier and an older man. 

At which point, the dragon landed, apparently deciding to pick off the wounded victim: he dragged the man back by one leg, tossed his screaming victim into the air with a great heave of his head, and then snapped his jaws shut to stop the screaming. 

The dragon's eyes met theirs.  _ "Delicious," _ he rumbled, voice carrying a mocking tone. 

Fire erupted in a halo around the dragon's head, and he snapped irritably, turning away to deal with whatever had just happened.

They decided to join the soldier behind some rubble. 

"I need to find General Tullius and join in the defense," he was explaining. 

The older man pressed one hand reassuringly onto the crying boy's shoulder. "Gods guide you, Hadvar."

"Still alive, prisoner?" The soldier - Hadvar - addressed them directly. "Keep close to me if you want to stay that way."

A part of them wanted to call bullshit - it wasn't so long ago that he'd agreed to kill them - but frankly, if he wanted to take responsibility for keeping them alive, they were inclined to let him. 

His efforts, sadly, weren’t much more successful than Blondie’s had been. 

Together, they stumbled through the smoke-clogged streets of Helgen, the bodies of the fallen lining their path. At every turn, flames erupted from the buildings. More and more, it felt as if they were being  _ herded, _ led towards their certain doom.

That impression was not at all aided by the fact that Neko’s endurance, at least, had long-since run out. They needed a moment to catch their breath, but stopping to take that rest was suicide.

Once again, they marveled at how much they didn’t actually wish to die.

Too bad it now seemed an inevitability!

Before long, they had to drag Hadvar into the shadow of a building, using both hands and their considerable weight. “Look - “ they gasped. “I need - shelter. Someplace - I can - catch my breath.”

He looked them over -

Oh, gods.

The dragon landed on the wall above them, so close they could touch one of his wingtips, if they chose. He spoke  _ flame, _ and a screaming soldier erupted nearby. Monstrous laughter carried onto the wind as the great beast launched himself back into the air.

“Okay. Okay, you have a point.” Damn him, but the soldier wasn’t even a little bit out of breath.

They nodded simply, still struggling to breathe. He led them toward the keep, this time, and they followed as quickly as their legs could manage.

“Ralof, you damned traitor!” Hadvar addressed one of the Stormcloaks - Blondie, they realized dully - “Out of my way!”

Ralof, his name was, smiled grimly. “We’re escaping, Hadvar. You’re not going to stop us this time.” 

“Fine, I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!”

Sovngarde, they reasoned, must be some kind of afterlife.

Wonderful.

Still, they didn’t protest as Hadvar led them past Blondie, into the keep proper.

With any luck, the keep itself might hold up to the dragon’s attack - at least long enough that they wouldn’t die gasping.

“Looks like it’s clear,” Hadvar said, looking around warily. He let go of their arm, and they sank back against the keep’s door, still struggling for air. “Was that  _ really _ a dragon? The bringers of the end times?”

They considered. Slowly, the gray faded from the edges of their vision, and they breathed a bit easier despite the commotion outside. “Or a wyvern,” they offered. “Only the two legs ….”

“Eh?” He seemed confused by that, and they waved their bound hands vaguely to dismiss their own speculation. “Right … let me get those bindings off of you,” He offered, kneeling in front of them. He was surprisingly gentle with his belt knife, and in moments, their wrists joined the rest of their body in a dull, throbbing ache. They flexed their fingers, feeling their heartbeat in their fingertips, and oh, but that wasn’t particularly pleasant.

They inspected their hands. “I’m an artist,” they complained. “I need those.”

“Ah … I’m sorry,” he repeated his earlier apology. “If it were my decision, you wouldn’t have been imprisoned at all,” he admitted. “We found you facedown in the snow - the captain’s the one who had you bound. She said that otherwise we’d be ‘taking chances.’” He made a face.

They nodded, slowly. “Well, at least I didn’t freeze to death?” It was a silver lining on a shit cake, but at the moment, they’d take it. 

He smiled. “Come on, let’s see if there’s any gear here for you.”

As it happened, there wasn’t.

Oh, there was gear enough, all right, spare armor for men half their size, but nothing that would fit. They did manage to locate a belt that just barely cinched around their waist, and they hung a sheathed sword from it. 

“It’s been a while,” they admitted, suddenly wishing they’d spent far more time with the stick-jockeys at the park. Endless mock battles - even pitted against the same foes - would still have better prepared them for - whatever this was - than their years of sedentary life had.

Hadvar smiled reassuringly. “I don’t expect you’ll need to actually fight.”

“Just in case, then.”

He nodded. “Just in case,” he agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hadvar's such an optimistic fellow.
> 
> I have to say, the phrase "Into the keep, soldier! We're leaving!" only really makes sense if everyone involved is aware there's a secret exit out back. Given that Hadvar spends the entire time going 'idk is there a secret exit?' ... yeah.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which permission is sarcastically granted.

“Hear that?” They approached the gate together, and sure enough, they heard the voices speaking. “Stormcloaks,” Hadvar whispered. “Maybe we can reason with them.”

They shook their head slowly. "Maybe  _ I _ can reason with them," they countered. "I'm not wearing the enemy uniform."

"All right," he replied, pulling the chain. Heavy metal bars groaned protest as they sank into the ground. "Go."

They nodded, stepping forward. Holding both hands up to show they weren't brandishing a weapon, they addressed the Stormcloaks. "I've got word from Jarl Ulfric," they announced. "He wants his men to rendezvous at the tower in the center of town."

"And just who in the name of Talos are you?"

They blew out a sigh. "Someone who isn't getting paid for this? Look, I saw your Jarl with my own two eyes. He's alive and well and if you know what's good for you, you'll meet up with him outside."

They tried not to leave room for argument. It was all about confidence, after all, and everything they said was the truth. 

The two Stormcloaks conferred with each other for a moment, before agreeing to their Jarl's orders. 

_ Blessed be. _

Hadvar emerged from his hiding place, eyeing them warily. "So, when did you plan to tell me you'd spoken with Ulfric Stormcloak?"

"Once," they held up a single finger for emphasis. "It's not like I joined his cause. I don't know about you, but I'm a  _ civilian. _ The less fighting I get involved with, the more likely I survive."

His expression betrayed his mistrust, but he couldn't fault their logic. 

Honestly, they weren’t precisely sure where they were headed, but Hadvar led them down a staircase. “There’s supposed to be a secret exit,” he explained, as they walked. “Supposedly, Stormcloaks have been smuggling prisoners out that way for a while now.” 

They nodded, then realized he couldn’t see them - they were walking a ways behind him. “Sounds good,” they replied.

Outside, the dragon roared. Part of the keep came down in front of them, and they startled, jumping back. “Damn,” Hadvar shook his head, marvelling at the wreckage. “That dragon doesn’t give up easily.”

When they heard more Stormcloaks looting the storeroom, he sent Neko ahead to negotiate, and with the same success as before. Both of them breathed a little easier after that.

Neko swiped a loaf of thick, crusty bread from the table, figuring it was probably still good, and began tearing into it, greedily. “There’s a lot of useful supplies in here,” Hadvar said. “Take a minute and grab what you can, okay?” He, himself, picked over some bags and crates in the far corner, while they looked over a multicolored assortment of vials on a shelf by the table.

“Whassis?” They mumbled, around their loaf of bread. The glass bottles looked fancy, some kind of colored liquid swirling around inside of them. 

Hadvar came over to inspect their find. “Ah, some potions - here, see. People mix a bit of food dye in, so you know what you’re getting. Red is for healing, blue is for magic, and green restores your energy. See?” He swirled a red potion to demonstrate, then offered it to Neko. “Here, you hold onto them, okay?”

They nodded, simply, thinking it over. Potions? Like … magical potions?

Was it any more ridiculous than a dragon tearing apart the city?

No, they supposed not.

“Are there any other kinds of potions?” they asked, before taking another bite of their bread. 

Hadvar looked at them, quizzically. “Here? Not as such, but alchemists can work all sorts of little miracles with a few herbs. Don’t you have potions where you come from?”

“... Kind of?” Somehow, they didn’t figure herbal supplements quite counted.

He shrugged, and that was that.

They made their way down a hallway, and then some stairs. “Gods,” Hadvar began. “The torture room. I wish we didn’t need these.”

Worse, for them, was the fact that the torture room was occupied. A commotion was coming from down the stairs: there would be no negotiating their way out of this one.

A handful of Stormcloaks stood arrayed against two Imperials. One of the Imperials was armed with a mace, while the other -

_ So that's magic, then. Magic is real. Good to know.  _

The other Imperial raised his hand. Lightning spilled forth, electrocuting all four of his opponents simultaneously. They fell before him, twitching and convulsing, little burns forming on their skin. He  _ giggled,  _ as the Stormcloaks cooked alive. 

Neko felt queasy.

Whether or not the torture room was necessary (and they knew it wasn’t), this was a man who clearly loved his job, and his job was to deliver a long, slow, and painful death.

“You two happened along just in time,” the torturer smiled. “These fellows seemed a little  _ upset _ at how I’d been entertaining their comrades.” 

Hadvar had the decency to look disgusted, as well. “Don’t you know what’s going on?” He asked. Without giving the torturer time to guess, he explained: “A dragon is attacking Helgen!”

“A dragon? Don’t make up nonsense.” Apparently, the torturer was deaf. At the very least, he must be terribly incurious, not to wonder how the Stormcloaks had even gotten in. “Come to think of it, though, I did hear some odd noises coming from over there …. “

The torturer walked over to one of the cages. An emaciated body - marked with all manner of half-healed scars - lay motionless inside. “Poor fellow screamed for weeks,” the torturer grinned.

“Come with us,” Hadvar demanded, abruptly. “We need to get out of here.”

_ We? _ No. Not with someone like  _ that. _

Fortunately, the torturer seemed to agree. “You have no authority over me, boy.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I said, the keep is under attack!”

“And I said, you have no authority over me. I’ll be staying here, thank you very much.”

Neko found their eyes drawn to the prisoner’s belongings. A robe lay neatly folded on the table beside the cage, along with two books, a backpack, a set of boots, some nice gloves, and some thin, metal tools of some description. They spared a glance at the dead body - he certainly didn’t need them anymore - and then at the torturer.    


“If I’m not mistaken, those are some mage’s robes - and that’s a spellbook. You should take it all,” Hadvar advised, apparently deciding he was done with the torturer.

They snagged the backpack, stuffing the books inside. Honestly, they’d been contemplating taking the pack, at least, even before they’d been formally granted permission. Of course, the permission wasn’t really Hadvar’s to give - “Sure,” the torturer replied, sarcasm in his tone. “Take all my things.  _ Please.” _

Well then, that was exactly what they’d do.

They took a moment to drag the robes up over their head, layering them over the threadbare rags. That done, they tugged the gloves and boots on, and secured the robe’s hood around their face. “How do I look?”

“Better,” Hadvar smiled. “Come on.”

The other Imperial, the torturer’s assistant, looked between the three of them. Finally, he came to a decision. “Forget the old man, I’m coming with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay safe out there.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the end is in sight.

Even had the torturer wanted to join them, it was soon rendered a moot point: another large chunk of the keep fell in behind them as they stepped into a cavern system that ran beneath the city. 

"No going back now," Hadvar announced grimly. "You're sure it's this way?"

The assistant nodded. "The old man never did anything about it - he likes to let people hold onto hope. He says it's more fun if they think they've got a chance …."

Honestly, the more Neko heard about the man, the more awful he became. 

They made their way through the caverns, picking their way over a small stream and past a skeletal body that seemed to serve as some kind of macabre waymarker: a lit lantern marked a side passage that might otherwise have gone unnoticed.

All was well until the cobwebs started to gather overhead. 

Neko shuddered, the hairs on the back of their arms standing on end. While they were  _ better _ about spiders than they’d once been, they still hated the damned things - 

\- worryingly, the spider's webbing only grew thicker as they walked. Down the narrow corridor, the walls became almost too close to avoid touching the webs, and oh, but wasn’t that an unpleasant thought?

“Giant spider,” Hadvar whispered. “Up ahead, see it?”

And they  _ did. _ Oh, gods, they did. The massive creature was the size of a small horse, scuttling around before them as though it had any right to exist.

Neko, predictably, froze.

Hadvar and the torturer’s assistant made their way forward, drawing their weapons, and it was probably for the best that they were the first to go, really.

It had nothing to do with the paralytic fear that had seized them. Honest.

The horse-sized spider reared up on its hind legs and slammed its forelegs down onto the assistant’s shoulders, its impossibly large mandibles snapping shut around his head. Before he knew it, he was dead, flopping to the ground with all the grace of a sack of potatoes.

Hadvar got in a couple lucky shots with his bow - he had a bow? - he had a bow. And he shot it at the spider, landing one hit through its eye and eliciting an awful screech from the creature. 

Around that time, Neko reasoned that if they didn’t participate in the fight, they’d be fighting  _ alone, _ and they didn’t really fancy their chances.

Honestly, they didn’t like the odds even  _ with _ Hadvar doing most of the work.

They ran up, swinging their broadsword wildly at the arachnid. Shockingly, their swing took one of its forelegs, green goo spraying from the missing limb. The spider screeched again, and they wasted no time thrusting the sword at the creature. It scuttled backwards, hissing at them, as another arrow sprouted from another of its eyes. They’d almost feel bad for it, but - well - it was still the manifestation of one of their most terrible nightmares, so,  _ no. _

Between the two of them, they managed to kill the spider, though Neko took several more swings after it stopped moving. Hacking the thing to pieces made them feel  _ significantly _ better about the fact that it existed at all.

“Spiders, huh?” Hadvar asked, sympathy audible in his tone. “What’s next, giant snakes?”

They laughed, shaky, and finally pulled away from their gory task.

Neko spared a glance to the fallen body of the torturer’s assistant - decided that he probably deserved what he’d gotten - and shivered. Not for the first time today, they felt glad. After all,  _ it wasn’t them. _ They weren’t the one who’d literally lost their head.

There was guilt, there, too, but mostly? Mostly, they were just happy to be alive.

Gods help them.

“Hold up,” Hadvar cautioned. “There’s a bear just ahead, see her?”

They nodded.

“I don’t want to tangle with her right now - “

A soft snort escaped them. “That makes two of us.”

“Think you can sneak past?”

They nodded.

Honestly, what shocked them most was that  _ Hadvar _ was able to slip past the bear unnoticed; he was still wearing full plate armor, after all, but manage, he did.

The bear’s den was littered with the bones of the less-fortunate, and once again, Neko was grateful it wasn’t them. 

Somehow, by some miracle, they were going to survive the day. 

_ Blessed be. _

Before much longer, they found themselves breathing fresher air. “I was starting to think we’d never find it,” Hadvar admitted. “But here we are - the way out.”

“Hopefully, anyway.” But yes - it did seem to be. Sunlight streamed in through the mouth of the cave, and they stepped out - only to duck back inside at the sight of the dragon winging his way over the forest ahead.

They watched as he disappeared into the distance, no more than a speck on the horizon - and continued watching after he’d gone completely.

“Looks like he’s gone for good,” Hadvar breathed a sigh of relief. “But I don’t think we should stick around to see if he comes back.” They shared a chuckle at the idea. “The closest town from here is Riverwood. My uncle’s the blacksmith there - he’d probably help you out.”

They tilted their head, looking at him. “Aren’t you coming with?”

“It’s probably best if we split up - “

They shook their head. “No, thanks. You’ve gotten me this far, and I’d rather not get lost and die on the road.”

He laughed slightly. “All right, then, come with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally out of Helgen! Blessed be.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything is peaceful for a bit.

The road to Riverwood was peaceful, and they marveled at how beautiful this "Skyrim" could be - when a dragon wasn't bearing down on it, anyway. 

Beside the cobblestone path, the river flowed serenely, idyllic in its tranquility. It smelled like water, clean and pure in a way the river back home - well - didn't. They suspected they would never find a washing machine in this river - if only because such things didn't seem to exist here. 

There were still so many questions. 

If this was a dream, why did it have such fun mechanics as  _ pain _ and  _ exertion? _

And if it wasn't a dream -

If it wasn't a dream, how did they understand the language here? How could they speak it? Where  _ were _ they, even, and how had they gotten here? How had magic come to exist in such an obvious and tangible form? Where the fuck had the dragon come from? 

"... if the rebels have themselves a dragon," Hadvar was saying, "General Tullius is the only one who could stop them." How long had they been spacing out for? Too long. Oops.

Neko shook their head, still chewing over their own questions. "No; they seemed just as surprised as everyone else."

"I - see."

As they travelled down the mountain, the air got a bit warmer, but not much. Neko was certainly glad of their multiple layers, even if one of them itched unpleasantly.

“See that ruin up there?” Hadvar called; they’d fallen behind just a little bit. “Bleak Falls Barrow. When I was a boy, that place always used to give me nightmares. Draugr creeping down the mountain to climb in my window, that sort of thing. I’ll admit, I still don’t much like the look of it.”

The place looked a bit like a rib cage, a set of descending arches that crawled down the mountainside and left a bit of a pallor on the whole place. Neko was certain they’d never seen anything quite like it before.

At least the road was mostly downhill. Neko was beyond exhausted already; they  _ had _ lived a quite sedentary lifestyle, after all. 

“These,” Hadvar said, apparently deciding he was a tour guide, “are the Guardian Stones - three of the thirteen ancient standing stones that dot Skyrim’s landscape.” He smiled. “They say if you touch one, you’ll receive the blessing of the constellation it represents. Here, you try.”

Three stones, three images. They took a moment to catch their breath, inspecting their options.

One depicted a young man dressed up like some kind of thief. Another wore the armor of a warrior, while the last - 

The last was obviously some kind of wizard. They found themself drawn to it, like a moth to a flame, and they pressed both hands to the stone.

At first, they thought they were imagining the way it seemed to fizz under their hands, but when they tried to draw away, they found they couldn’t. It called to something inside of them, and something inside of them rose in answer, a low, joyous humming that seemed determined to wash away all their cares.

This, they realized. This is what they’d always been missing.

“Mage, eh?” The constellation on the stone lit up from within, a soft glow forming in the keyhole at the top of the stone before shooting outward, up toward the sky. “Well, to each their own. It’s not for me to judge.”

A small smile curved their lips. “Let me guess, you picked Warrior?”

“How did you know?” He smiled in turn, a little self-consciously, if they were any judge.

From there, they traveled in silence for a while longer. Then, suddenly, Hadvar spoke up again: "Listen, as far as I'm concerned, you've already earned your pardon," Hadvar began. "Truth be told, you should never have been in that cart. But until we get that confirmed by General Tullius, just - try to avoid any Legion soldiers and, you know - other complications."

"Understood." It wasn't like they made a particular habit of getting in trouble, after all. 

It was a relief when they arrived at the town to find it intact. “Things look quiet enough here. Let’s find my uncle, come on - “ He broke into a tired-looking jog. They followed at a far more sedate pace; they were already exhausted. No point in making it worse.

“A dragon!” A woman’s voice shouted. Oh good, someone already knew. “I saw a dragon! It was as big as the mountain and black as night! It flew right over the barrow!”

However, her reception was less than encouraging. “Dragons, now, is it? Mother, if you keep on like this, everyone in town will think you’re crazy. And  _ I’ve _ got better things to do than listen to more of your fantasies.” Neko decided they didn’t much care for Blondie the Second.

Not-Ralof walked off with the air of someone who thought he was far more important than he actually was.

Meanwhile, Hadvar spotted the person he was looking for, apparently - the blacksmithy was manned by a soot-stained older man. “Uncle Alvor, hello!”

“Hadvar!” The smith looked surprised to see him there. “What are you doing here - are you on leave from - “ He finally got a good look at Hadvar. For all that they’d managed to avoid the worst of the fighting, they were still singed from the dragon’s attack, after all. “Shor’s bones, what happened to you, boy? Are you in some kind of trouble?”

Hadvar, himself, looked around mistrustfully. “Sh, Uncle, keep your voice down. I’m fine, but we should go inside to talk,” he replied, just a little bit nervously. 

“What’s going on? And, who’s this?” Alvor turned his attention to them, and they got that same uneasy feeling they always got when people were actively looking at them. They had just never liked being observed, really.

Hadvar smiled. “She’s a friend. Saved my life, in fact. Come on - I’ll explain everything, but we need to go inside.” He was insistent, and his tone of voice dragged Alvor’s attention away from them.

“Okay, okay, come inside then. Sigrid will get you both something to eat, and you can tell me all about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guess who's over par!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the war is exposited.

The house was cozy enough, inside. It had a fireplace, a double bed, a single bed, a table, and a few chairs, all squished together into a single living space. There was a staircase leading downstairs, but they hadn’t gotten that far, yet.

“Sigrid! We have company!” The blacksmith called, and a woman came up the stairs in response.

She looked surprised when she saw just who their company _was,_ however. “Hadvar! We’ve been so worried about you. You look tired - why don’t you sit down, let me get you something to eat - “ She began puttering about at the fireplace, putting something on to cook.

Alvor settled into one of the chairs by the table, and Hadvar sat opposite him. 

Neko found themself settled onto the edge of the double bed, deciding to keep quiet as part of their efforts to ‘avoid complications,’ as it were. Hadvar would explain everything - at the moment, they were just grateful for the chance to sit down.

“Now then, boy, what’s the big mystery? What are you doing here, looking like you lost an argument with a cave bear?”

“I don’t know where to start. You know I was assigned to General Tullius’s guard. We were stopped in Helgen, when we were attacked - by a dragon.”

Alvor looked genuinely shocked by that. “A dragon? You aren’t drunk, are you, boy?”

“Husband,” Sigrid admonished. “Let him tell his story.”

Hadvar smiled, ruefully. “There’s really not much more to tell. The dragon flew over and just - wrecked the whole place. Mass confusion. I doubt I’d have gotten out, myself, if not for my friend here.”

“I’m sure you’d have managed,” Neko spoke up, wryly. 

He shook his head. “With the Stormcloaks, then, or that spider? You did your part, trust me.”

They didn’t have a proper response to that, so they fell silent again, their cheeks warming slightly.

“Gods,” Alvor said. “A dragon. In Helgen. I knew I saw something - I didn’t want to believe …. “

Hadvar nodded, solemnly. “I understand, Uncle.”

Silence weighed heavily on the room, before a small, blonde child spoke up. Apparently, she’d been sitting on the staircase, eavesdropping. “Hadvar, did you _really_ see a dragon? What did it look like? Did it have big teeth?” 

“Hush, child,” Sigrid replied. “Don’t pester your cousin.”

The girl wore the biggest, saddest eyes. “But Mama ….”

“Don’t you, ‘but Mama,’ me.”

Hadvar ignored the ‘pestering,’ for his part, looking to his Uncle imploringly. “I need to make my way to Solitude and let them know what’s happened. I was hoping you could help us out - food, supplies, a place to stay - “

“Of course, of course, I’m glad to help however I can.” He looked wary, uncertain. “But I need your help - _we_ need your help. The Jarl needs to know if there’s a dragon on the loose - Riverwood is defenseless. If you’ll get word to Jarl Balgruuf in Whiterun to send whatever soldiers he can - well, I’d be in your debt.”

Hadvar looked troubled. “I need to get to Solitude as soon as possible - “ He looked to Neko, suddenly. “How about this,” he proposed, and suddenly, they realized they were going to be Involved. “I’ll travel with you to Whiterun. You stop there and talk to Jarl Balgruuf, and I’ll take the carriage north?”

“Not tonight,” they replied. “I’m exhausted, my legs are jelly. I’m going to need more than a minute’s rest, here.”

He nodded. “Fair enough. Tomorrow, then, first thing in the morning.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Dinner was a simple meal, venison stew and a loaf of bread, but hunger turned it into a feast fit for a king - rather, a Jarl. 

"So, what can you tell me about Jarl Balgruuf?" They asked, between spoonfuls of the best stew they had ever tasted. 

Alvor considered. "He's a decent man, and a fair ruler."

"What side does he favor in the whole - " they gestured vaguely with their spoon, " - war, thing?"

The smith shook his head. "I don't think he likes Ulfric or Elisif very much … I've no doubt he'll prove loyal to the Empire in the end, though. He's no traitor."

"Elisif?"

Alvor blinked. "Ah, you're new to Skyrim? Jarl Elisif, I should say, though only because she was married to High King Torygg when he was killed." He tore a chunk of bread off his loaf and dipped it in his bowl of stew. "They say Ulfric murdered Torygg, you know. Walked right into the palace and Shouted him to pieces. That's what started this whole war - the Empire couldn't ignore that. When the Jarls start killing each other again, it's back to the bad old days."

Honestly, it was all a bit much for them to take in, though they nodded and made a thoughtful noise. 

"So, Elisif is the Empire's pick for - High Queen, then?" They asked it hesitantly, fairly certain they'd put the pieces together correctly. 

A simple nod met their inquiry. "I have faith that this will all work out in the end. Skyrim is no fair-weather friend, and the Empire has always been good for Skyrim. You'll see."

They _didn't_ know for certain - they knew little and less about the key players - but once again, they nodded their agreement. 

Silence stretched over the table, but it was a companionable one, punctuated by the sounds of several people digging into their meals in earnest. 

"Well! I'd better get back to work, but you two make yourselves at home, all right?"

He stood, heading out the door, and Neko set to work finishing their stew. 

"It's good to be back in a friendly spot, huh?" Hadvar smiled at them, and they nodded softly. "I might have liked to lay up here for a while longer, but … duty calls, hey?"

Another nod. It wasn't exactly like they could just call the Jarl on the phone, apparently, so … "Yeah."

* * *

The night passed relatively quietly. The house was warm, insulated against the outside noise and weather both. Hadvar had selected a book from Alvor's table - A Gentleman's Guide to Whiterun \- while Neko studied the spellbook they'd found. 

It was fascinating stuff. The book contained a brief primer about how magic worked in general - and how Destruction magic worked, in specific - before detailing the shape of the spellwork, and how a prospective caster would hold it in their mind.

Magic, they learned, was two parts will and one part raw power. The strongest mage, boasting an immense reservoir of magicka, would get just about nowhere without an equally deep reserve of willpower.

 _Mom would be great at this,_ they reflected. She had enough willpower for three people, after all. 

Still, Neko was certain they could manage well enough. 

Tomorrow, maybe. They'd try their new tricks out - tomorrow. Their eyes fluttered closed, they set the tome aside -

\- and they woke, staring at their PC without really comprehending what they saw. 

_What._

Their character sank to the ground, where she was promptly torn to pieces by werewolves. A cheerful little message popped up, even - "Neko had their head removed by Werewolf" - but that was, by far, the least of their concerns. 

"I need a minute - " They muted their microphone, stumbling blindly through their house in order to gag over the toilet. A procession of dead bodies played behind their eyelids, charred and flayed, cooked from the inside, beheaded and _eaten_ \- it was almost too much. Certainly, it was too much to process all at once. 

They'd fallen asleep in Skyrim, only to 'awaken' to the fact their body had apparently gone on without them.

Gods help them, but they were going crazy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's distressing.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which one thinks their thoughts.

The night was blissfully mundane, after their brief psychotic break, anyway. 

They made progress in Terraria, working on a massive underground network to try and corral the spread of the Crimson. Bombs helped with that process, rather a lot, reducing their overall workload dramatically. 

There were still a few achievements they'd yet to, well, achieve, so they were working through the game once again. It was slow going, but it felt rewarding.

The morning came, they lay down -

\- and opened their eyes to the not-unpleasant smell of meat and eggs cooking over an open fire. Sigrid had just begun breakfast, it looked like, and they yawned hugely, stretching into a gradually more vertical position. Sleeping on the floor - with only a fur rug for comfort - had seemed like a much better idea some ten hours ago or so.

Several bruises they'd ignored the day before all simultaneously announced their presence, resulting in a wince and a grimace, but hey, at least they were still alive, which was definitely a statement that carried more weight after outrunning a dragon. 

_ I'm doing science and I'm still alive ~ _

Well, not really, but that was how the song went. Did magic count? They weren't actually doing magic at that moment, but the way it had been described -

"Good morning, sleepyhead." Sigrid sounded amused. "Rest well?"

Neko blinked, distracted from their musings. "Mn? Well enough. Is some of that for me?" They put on their most hopeful expression, and were rewarded with a plateful of eggs, with a slice of - venison, maybe? - on the side. "Yaaaay. Thank you ~ "

"You're very welcome. I'm glad  _ someone _ appreciates the work I do." 

Neko dug into their meal greedily. Protein was important for healing, after all. 

"So, you're a wizard, then?"

Neko promptly choked on a bite of egg, coughing slightly to clear their throat. "Ah, not exactly?"

"I just thought, with the robes, and the spellbook - "

They ran their fingers through their hair, smiling apologetically. "No - see, where I'm from, we don't really have magic, as such - "

"Really? No magic at all? I can hardly imagine that."

They nodded. "So imagine when I show up here and people are like, shooting lightning from their fingertips or whatever, right?" They gestured animatedly with their fork. "I mean, we have stories about magic, sure, but it's all fake, you know?"

"It must be very different," Sigrid said, agreeably enough. "So then, if I may ask, why the robes?"

Neko ducked their head, slightly embarrassed. "I didn't have anything better to wear," they admitted, which was true enough, at that. "Besides, maybe I  _ want _ to be a wizard, now that it's an option, hm?"

"I could never wrap my head around all that magic stuff. Leave that to the elves - ah, no offense intended."

Neko shrugged. "None taken. I just - like I said, I grew up on stories about magic and wizards and all. I've never been all that great with a sword, but I think maybe I  _ can _ wrap my head around this."

"Well then, I wish you luck," Sigrid smiled warmly. "You might check with Lucan, over at the Riverwood Trader - oh, or maybe the Jarl's court wizard? They might sell you some spells, enough to get you started, at least."

They nodded. "I'll do that, thanks."

Breakfast passed in relative silence after that. Alvor woke next, then the girl (whose name was apparently Dorthe), before finally, Hadvar climbed the stairs. 

He'd chosen to sleep downstairs because, plainly, there wasn't any room left. Honestly, even Neko barely fit, and they had been sort of laying in a walkway to do so. Apparently, it hadn't been the best sleep of his life - he looked a bit grouchy, though he brightened at the prospect of fresh food. By then, there was even tea and honey for everyone.

Neko wondered, absently, what they would do about their medication. It hadn't been a concern before, when they were positive this was all just a dream, but they'd tasted Sigrid's food (it was delicious), they hurt in all the logical places (ow), and so it was either the most vivid hallucination  _ ever _ (unlikely), or the events that had unfolded so far were - in some sense of the word - real. 

They remembered taking their medication back on Earth - in fact, they remembered everything they'd done in both realities with relative clarity. Would that be enough, they wondered?

There was another matter. 

This body, the form they fit inside - it was a little bit  _ off. _ The most obvious clues were the missing pieces. No tattoo had ever graced their right wrist, and their earlobes were completely unpierced. Was it possible that this body - having potentially never encountered their medications - would be unphased by missing a dose?

And what did that mean for their very real mental health issues?

It was a little bit much to consider for one morning, so they set it aside for the time being. They'd figure all of that out … later.

Honest. 

* * *

"He didn't have to give me so much …" They looked a bit aghast, though at the time, they'd merely accepted the heavy pouch of coins.

Hadvar laughed. "He likes you, I think. You're a likeable sort of girl, Neko."

"I guess …" 

They debated, internally, on correcting him, but they sort of imagined it would go over like a lead brick. What would they even say? At least, back on Earth, they knew that the language for it existed. It was a common enough  _ thing _ that one could just say it outright. 

There were even memes about it. Like, 'I was raised female, but I don't really believe in it anymore.' Or, 'I participate in feminine rituals on Easter and Christmas, for my parents.'

It would probably be easier if they were actually male - half their friends were trans, it was a whole  _ thing _ \- but they weren't. 

Honestly, if they just came out and said, 'Look, I really don't identify with any gender anymore,' they rather anticipated that  _ at best, _ they'd get a weird look. 

But hey, maybe they weren't giving these pseudo-norsemen enough credit.

They tried forming the sentence in their head - it translated roughly, more an explanation than a term, even after multiple variations. 

It would be easier if they truly understood the language, but they really didn't have the same kind of intrinsic comprehension of - Cyrodiilic - as they did English. It was all in their head, apparently, but they had to think about the language consciously in order to figure anything out. 

Hopefully, whatever magic had granted them the capacity to speak the language was a bit smarter than Google Translate … honestly, this would be a good opportunity to test that. 

If they could muster the courage. At least Hadvar didn't seem to mind the fact they'd been walking in silence for a while, now. 

"Hadvar …"

He looked over to them. "Something on your mind?"

"I don't really have a gender," they explained, haltingly. 

He frowned. "You look like a woman to me …"

_ Ah, yes. The tits. _

"I mean, I was born into a woman's body, I suppose? But I don't really identify as female …" Comprehension did not dawn upon his face. "Look, just forget I said anything, okay?" 

He frowned. "No, this is obviously important to you. I suppose …" He looked like the gears in his head were churning through mud, but he was clearly thinking it over. "What would you prefer to be called, instead?"

"Just - a person? Instead of 'she,' or 'her,' I use 'they' or 'them.'" A little thrill of excitement caught them off guard: unlike Spanish, Cyrodiilic apparently had properly neutral pronouns already.

He nodded, slowly. "I can do that, for you."

"Thanks."

* * *

The walk passed in awkward silence, after that.

At least, Neko felt awkward. 

It could have definitely gone worse - he could have asked what was in their pants ('I don't actually know at the moment,' was probably not the best answer) - but now they were stuck on that topic. 

_ He thinks you're weird. _

_ Well, we are weird.  _

_ All the best people are mad. _

Their brain went off on a tangent, as it so often did, and before they knew it, the forest around Riverwood had fallen away, replaced by a breathtakingly massive expanse of golden-brown tundra. In the distance, a castle rose up on what seemed to be the only proper hill for miles. While 'Whiterun,' as Alvor had identified it, wasn't precisely flat, it did have the same sort of rolling quality as the Great Plains. 

Just, with fewer trees.

Whiterun was also neither white, nor within running distance, and they rather wondered how it had gotten its name. 

"See up there?" Hadvar was pointing out. "That'll be the city of Whiterun, which is the capital of Whiterun Hold. When you get inside, just keep heading up - the Jarl's palace, Dragonsreach, is at the very top of the hill."

They nodded, though privately, they weren't looking forward to the climb. 

It wasn't like it would matter immediately, however; there was quite a bit of distance between them and the city, yet. 

_ I would kill a man for a bicycle right about now, _ they thought, idly.  _ No wonder the Pokémon games all give you one. Fuck this 'walking everywhere' bullshit. _

Before too much time had passed, however, they'd made it almost halfway to the city, passing a couple smaller buildings and a larger one that smelled sweetly alcoholic. The words carved into the sign read, "Honningbrew Meadery," and they wondered if, at some point, they'd finally get to actually try mead.

Which brought them back to their earlier concerns, actually; with their medications it had never been particularly safe to drink alcohol … oh well. They shoved that thought aside. 

If it became a problem, it would be a problem. If not, it wouldn't. 

"This is where we part ways," Hadvar announced. He looked to the nearby carriage, then looked back to them. "It was good meeting you, Neko. You're an interesting person."

They ran their hand through their hair, embarrassed. "Thank you, Hadvar. It was good to meet you, too."

He nodded once, then abruptly turned toward the carriage.

And then, they were alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am having an extra helping of ADHD - Inattentive this week, and it shows!
> 
> Hopefully the ramblings weren't too rambly.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they discover Whiterun.

The city of Whiterun was - pretty, they decided. 

It was still decidedly medieval, but it had a certain rustic charm about it. 

They could feel their legs threatening to give out, exhausted already by the long walk. Focusing, they drew upon the old meditative trick they'd developed - imagining a green light at their core, they drew it out and down, manifesting that soothing energy in their legs. It was psychosomatic, they were sure, but it had always helped. 

This time, however, they would swear they could feel it actually mending the muscles they'd overexerted.

Huh. Well, magic  _ was _ real, after all. It made a kind of sense.

They had stopped by the well in the middle of town for a drink when a small hand tugged their sleeve. "Lady, could you spare a coin?"

The voice was high and hopeful, and the dirty little girl it belonged to damn near melted their heart instantly.

"Sure, of course, let me - " Before they'd even truly given it any thought, they had opened their coin purse, counting out ten gold coins. "Is that enough?"

The girl's eyes widened, and she beamed up at Neko. "Wow, thanks! You're the best - can you be my mama?"

They had never wanted children. Certainly, they had no intentions of growing their own offspring - the whole process had a certain amount of visceral horror to it for them. But.

But.

This little girl, desperate and alone, tugged painfully on their heartstrings. Given the opportunity …?

"What happened to your parents?" they asked, gently. 

The girl's face crumpled. "My mama, she … she died. My aunt and uncle took over the farm and kicked me out, they said I wasn't good for anything. I'm all alone now."

"And that's why you're begging?" Oh, the poor thing. 

The girl nodded. "It's … it's what Brenuin said I should do. He's the only one who's been nice to me, until I met you."

_ Call me Bruce Wayne because I'm about to adopt a child I've barely met. Fuck.  _

"I don't have anywhere for you to live," they said, "but look, here's some more gold, okay?" Gods, they could  _ not _ afford to support a child right now. 

It had rather suddenly become a priority, however. 

The girl did her best to contain her disappointment. "Okay …."

"What's your name? When I get rich and famous, I'll need to know who you are, huh?" They added a playful note to their voice, realizing simultaneously that they were entirely serious. 

The girl looked hopeful again. "Lucia, ma'am. My name's Lucia."

"Well then. Lucia. I have a very important meeting with the Jarl of Whiterun, but after that, why don't we meet up back here? You can show me around, and we'll get a bite to eat. My treat."

Lucia's eyes widened again. "Yes, ma'am!"

* * *

Climbing the hill to the Jarl's palace was still a chore for Neko, even with their fancy new spell keeping the worst of the pain at bay. 

Still, they made it, and once there, they couldn't help but be a little awestruck by the place. It was all ornately carved wood, but writ massive, with huge, soaring arches capping the place off. The doors were impractically large, making them feel small by comparison, and it felt like they barely had to crack one open in order to enter. 

Inside, it was just as grand, the arches mirroring the outside. A huge chandelier hung from the ceiling, with candles. They couldn't imagine quite how it got lit, but a part of them hoped that it was magic. At the moment, however, the sun was streaming through the high windows, and the chandelier was, therefore, unlit. 

At the center of the great hall was an enormous fire pit laid into the ground. They tried not to think about burning bodies as they passed it, but the scent of smoke, of cooking meat - no. They shook their head to clear it.  _ We're okay. I'm okay.  _

"My lord," a man's wavering voice spoke. On the dais at the head of the hall stood a small and simple throne. A plain blond man sat on the throne proper - that would have to be Jarl Balgruuf - while a man and a woman stood at either side. "This is no time for rash action - "

The woman, a dark-skinned elf with brilliant crimson eyes, peered at Neko. They paused a respectful distance from the throne, folding their hands neatly, and waited patiently to be called upon. 

It didn't take long. "What is the meaning of this interruption?" The leather-clad woman asked. "Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors."

"This isn't an idle visit. Alvor sent me: Riverwood is in danger."

The elf frowned. "As housecarl, it's my job to deal with any danger that threatens the Jarl or his people, so you have my attention. Now, explain yourself."

"A dragon has destroyed Helgen. The people of Riverwood fear for their safety; there are no guards to protect them." It was true, after all. Whiterun hold had its share of yellow-clad guardsmen (identifiable by their matching uniforms and generally dour expressions) but they had only begun to see those guardsmen on the road, a fair distance from the town.

Not that a couple extra archers would matter at all if the dragon came back. 

Gods, but the devastation was still playing at the back of their mind. 

The 'housecarl' looked surprised, for her part. "You know about Helgen? The Jarl will want to speak to you personally."

She turned toward the Jarl, beckoning Neko forward. He'd apparently heard enough with his own ears, because he launched into his inquiry straightaway. "So, you were at Helgen? You saw this dragon with your own eyes?"

"Yes, my lord. The Imperials were about to execute Ulfric Stormcloak, when the dragon attacked. He got away in the confusion, but to my eyes, it seemed more an opportunistic escape than one he'd planned."

The Jarl looked like he had tasted something foul. "Pah. I should have guessed Ulfric would be mixed up in all this. Why do you believe he wasn't behind the dragon's timely arrival, hm?"

"Because, sir. The dragon didn't discriminate, didn't take sides. He killed everyone foolish enough to stand in his way, Stormcloak or Imperial."

Jarl Balgruuf looked them over, and they felt small. At least the robes they wore seemed to be impervious to stains or wrinkles: they were fairly certain they looked decent enough. Was their heart pounding from exertion or anxiety? The world would never know. 

"And yet," he drew his words out carefully. "You survived. Well done, girl, and thank you for bringing this to my attention." He paused, thoughtfully. "I'll see to it that some men are assigned to protect Riverwood; Alvor needn't worry."

The other advisor protested. "The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him! We should not - "

"ENOUGH." The commanding shout silenced the room. "I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people! Irileth," he addressed the elf, "Send a detachment to Riverwood at once."

The housecarl bowed. "Yes, my Jarl."

"If you'll excuse me," the older man replied, defeated, "I'll return to my duties."

The Jarl waved him off. "That would be best. You, girl."

He directed his attention to Neko once more.

"I have another task for you, if you'd like to earn some coin?"

They nodded, thinking of Lucia.

"Good. Proventus isn't wrong, I'm afraid. I need a messenger to take word to Jarl Siddgeir in Falkreath. He'll appreciate the forewarning, not only about my soldiers, but about the dragon as well. Can you do this for me?"

Another nod. "Yes, my Jarl."

"Good. Don't fail me. You are dismissed."

* * *

They found Lucia by the well, and a part of them wondered if she'd decided to just wait there for them. It was a little heartbreaking to realize they were probably one of the very few adults to pay any kind of positive attention to the girl. 

"Hey there, kiddo." They smiled. "So, where's the best place to eat for cheap, huh?"

The girl scrunched up her nose, thinking. "Well, Miss Carlotta gets in some of the best apples ever, and sometimes she'll give a few to me and Brenuin if they don't sell quick enough."

"Hm, okay. And for a hot meal?"

Lucia didn't have to think hard on that one. "Miss Hulda cooks the best stew, and she bakes good bread, and she lets me stay in the inn sometimes if it's raining or snowy. She's really nice."

Neko nodded. "Well then, let's start by talking to Miss Carlotta, hm? Get you an apple, then some real food from Miss Hulda."

"Yaaaay!"

The produce merchant had a stall nearby - near enough, in fact, that she probably heard the whole conversation, though she was polite enough to pretend she hadn't. A man walked off as they approached, and she huffed a sigh. "Life's hard enough with all these men propositioning me, but that bard Mikael is the worst."

"Hm?" Neko looked over their shoulder at the man's retreating back. "Someone giving you trouble?"

Carlotta sounded exasperated. "It's that bard - yes, the man who just left. I've heard him boasting at the Bannered Mare that he's going to 'conquer me' like a true Nord conquers any harsh beast - hmph!" She folded her arms. "I've got a stall to run and a hungry daughter to feed. I don't have time for some man fucking it all up for me - ah," she glanced down at Lucia. "Pardon my language."

"Want me to talk to him?" Neko selected a couple apples from the rack on display, inspecting them for signs of rot. They were good.

The merchant sighed again. "If you want to try, go ahead. I don't think anything will get through that thick skull of his, though." She also inspected the apples. "Ten gold for those."

"Sure." They counted out the gold. "I'll see what I can do about - you said his name was Mikael?"

She nodded. "At the Bannered Mare, yes. He's the bard, there."

"Ah."

If this 'Mikael' liked his fingers, he'd lay off. 

_ No means no ~ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler: Mikael apparently doesn't like his fingers.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a brawl breaks out.

As it happened, Mikael was not particularly amenable to reason.

It went something like this:

"Thank you, thank you, good patrons of the Bannered Mare, thank you ~ " No one was clapping for him. No one cheered. In fact, most of the bar seemed annoyed. "One more song, what say you?" No response. "Yeah? Yeah!"

Neko didn't wait for the bard to begin to play. "Are you Mikael?"

"Er, yes I am! Are you a fan, by any chance?"

They shook their head. "Look, you need to leave Carlotta Valentia alone."

"Carlotta put you up to this, did she?" He clutched his lute (was that a lute?) by the neck. "I'm sorry, but that fiery widow is mine. She just … doesn't know it yet."

Neko resisted the urge to bury their entire face in their hands. "She's not yours. She's her own person. Stop this nonsense."

"What's that? All I hear is the sound of jealousy."

Blink. Blink. "Ex- _ cuse _ me?"

"You heard me, dyke. You're just jealous I'm going to fuck her and you're not."

Shock settled over them like a blanket. What.  _ "What." _

"Are you deaf, or just stupid?" He grinned, shoving them. They didn't move. "Fat bitch. Get the fuck away from me."

Reason abandoned them. Before they realized what was happening, their open palm had snapped forward, slamming hard into his nose and knocking him prone.

They regained their composure momentarily, but the damage was done. 

"So that's what you want, is it? Need a man to show you your place?" He wiped blood from his nose with one hand. 

They saw the lute crash down on their head, seconds too late to do anything about it. The world spun crazily. 

Then the fight began in earnest. 

The thing was. 

The thing was it had been years since they'd taken Tae Kwon Do. They were out of shape and reeling from what was probably going to be a concussion. 

However, Mikael was a fragile twig of a man. After that first hit with his lute (which had shattered the poor thing), he really couldn't do much lasting harm. 

He left them with a black eye. 

They slammed their fist into his gut, and he lost his lunch on the floor.

"Keep this up, it gets worse."

He glared up at them. "Bitch."

"And? I'm not the one making unwanted advances. You said it yourself:  _ Carlotta doesn't want you. _ She wouldn't have asked for my help if she was just playing hard to get,  _ dumbass." _

He continued to glare. "Fine," he spat, leaking blood into the pool of chunky vomit.

They poked him with their booted foot. "Fine,  _ what." _

"On my honor, I won't ever bother Carlotta again."

A simple nod. "Good. Now clean up your mess." 

* * *

"Ow." They reached up and touched their eye, feeling the bruise there. Mikael had cleaned up his lunch - and his blood - and then left the common room in shame.

Lucia was there. She'd gotten out of the way when the fighting started, but now she was back. "Are you okay? I saw him hit you with his lute?"

"My head hurts, but I'll be fine." Probably. "He was being rude."

The girl nodded. "I heard what he said. And then you hit him!" Her eyes lit up at that, and she grinned. "Just - pow! And he went down! And then he got up and hit you with his lute, and then you hit him again! Can you show me how to fight?"

"Uhn. Not right now?"

They'd gotten lucky. He was kind of pathetic.

A man in a yellow uniform walked up.  _ Oh, no. _

"Buy you a drink, miss …?"

What.  _ What?  _

"I. Uh. Sure? I've always wanted to try mead."

He nodded. "Honningbrew is the best meadery in the province," the guard informed them seriously. "Don't bother with that Black-Briar swill."

"... I'm not in trouble, am I?"

He laughed outright. "The boy had it coming, talking to you like that. No, you'll find that Skyrim's a bit more forgiving in that respect - sometimes, a man's just got to settle things with his fists." He paused, appraised them for a moment. "Or a woman, as the case may be."

"I … see." Luck, it seemed, was on their side. 

Neko made a point of only sharing a single small bottle of mead with the guardsman, whose name, as it happened, was Vilkhelm. They had no idea how badly they'd handle their liquor: on Earth, their medications rendered them an utter lightweight. 

But this was Skyrim.

Here, the guardsman praised them for standing up for themself, rather than throwing them in jail. Everything was a little bit sideways in Skyrim. Magic was real. Dragons were real. Well, dragon, singular, and it looked like a wyvern, besides. 

_ Oof. Headache.  _

It was fortunate for them that they were sitting down, as their balance had become somewhat compromised. It was horribly unclear whether this was because of their head injury or the alcohol, but they had a remedy for one of those things. 

They focused on the green light again, drawing upon the fizzy wellspring they'd learned was magic. Pushing it into their head, they focused on cooling, soothing, healing. 

It … sort of helped. Maybe. 

Vilkhelm, for his part, showed a far-too-enthusiastic Lucia how to properly throw a punch, then stayed until she got it right. He told her she should practice often if she wanted to throw a punch like Neko, which seemed silly; Mikael was just fragile. 

Being fair to the bard, however, they did still practice that small handful of punches … somewhat regularly. 

Maybe they were still stronger than they thought? 

Either way, they decided that this Vilkhelm fellow was a decent sort, and tried to commit his face to memory. 

They weren't particularly good at that, but they tried. 

* * *

That night was misery. 

Apparently, a few days had passed with neither incident nor further psychotic break, and their Earth-self had come to figure it was a one-off occurrence. 

Concerning, maybe something they should mention to someone, but what would they even say? 

'Hey, so I had a really wild and intrusive daydream that gives me traumatic flashbacks, help?'

Yeah, no. 

They decided to ignore it, like many of the other problems in their life. 

Then, their roommate had gotten sick. He'd brought a cold - or something - home with him, and now, unsurprisingly, Neko had a cold. Or something. 

The sneezing was awful; it wouldn't stop long enough for them to catch their breath, persisting until their chest ached and their nose and throat were both raw. 

Two off-brand Benadryl and a packet of off-brand Nyquil served as co-conspirators to try and lure them into sleep. The worst of it was, they spent the whole night slowly rotating in bed like a particularly miserable rotisserie chicken, turning over and over and over again without ever falling into a restful slumber. 

It served as a powerful distraction from their otherworldly worries. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still somewhat sick. But I've also managed to keep above par by a little bit! Go me!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which first blood is spilled.

Waking in Skyrim - with the ability to breathe comfortably - was a relief, in some ways. 

In other ways - their growing collection of aching bruises and slightly dizzy head - it was merely a new assortment of miseries. Also their right eye was swollen nearly shut.

They were polite, if not cheerful, when they spoke to Hulda, and traded some of their rapidly dwindling supply of gold coins for some kind of sweet confection with a cream filling. And an apple, for Lucia.

"Running a bit low on coin?" Hulda asked, sympathetically. "Some of the Jarl's men came by and left this bounty letter. If you're feeling brave, you could try your luck?"

Which. Yeah, no.

They got lucky with the dragon. They got lucky with Mikael. A whole cave full of bandits? Their luck would run dry, because fortune doesn't favor fools. 

And, that was assuming they didn't get terminally lost along the way. Even if they had the faintest idea where this place was (and they didn't), their sense of direction was abysmal. As it was, they weren't sure how they were supposed to make it to Falkreath, nor even where Falkreath  _ was.  _

Tracking down a specific cave full of armed robbers? Emphasis on the  _ armed robbers? _

That would be suicide. 

So they took the letter and ate their creamy treat and thought really hard on what they could actually  _ do. _

So far, they'd successfully carried a message from one end of this - what, hold? - to the other. Messages would probably be easy enough. Alvor had given them a decent sum of coins for their service, and all the walking would probably be good for them. 

But what else? 

"You know, a lot of adventurers collect herbs and other alchemical reagents to supplement their, well, adventuring. Like those little blue flowers you see everywhere? Those are especially popular with healers; you can pack them in a wound in a pinch, or grind them up with some wheat and a bit of water to make a decent healing potion."

Little blue flowers, check.

"Anything else I should look out for that might be valuable?"

Hulda considered. "Well, there's always Nirnroot. Little green leafy thing, but it sticks out because of the noise it makes while it's still in the ground. Alchemists like it for certain mixtures - I read somewhere that it's part of a common invisibility potion, in fact."

"Which part do I gather, the leaves?"

Hulda shrugged. "Honestly, it grows best in the soft mud next to water. Most folk just take the whole thing, roots and all."

"Hm. Thank you, for that."

After that, they made their way outside, squinting against the bright light of the morning sun. Ow.

Carlotta's stall was across the way, and the woman was looking cheery as she waved Neko over. "I heard what you did. I have to say, I'm impressed."

"Anybody would have - "

The merchant shook her head. "No, they wouldn't. And they didn't. But you did. I'd thank the Gods, but I'll settle for thanking you."

She pressed a pouch of coin into Neko's hands, and that was that. "... You're welcome."

From there, they said a quick farewell to Lucia. The girl was sad to see them go, but seemed to understand all the same. 

“Promise you’ll come back soon?”

Neko nodded, and ruffled her hair - and then made their way out the front gate.

The day got a little bit weirder from there.

Just outside the gates, a rather strange group of what appeared to be cat-people had set up several tents around a large campfire. They’d apparently arrived during the night; Neko hadn’t noticed them the day before.

They were decidedly not furries - their heads were too small and their colorations a bit too natural to be fursuits. Plus, they were all the same species - plus, everything thus far had pointed to this reality just being weird like that.

So they tried not to stare too much. It was unavoidable, however, and they ended up catching one of the cats’ attention. “Yes? Khajiit has wares, if you have coin.”

“Is … your name Khajiit?”

The feline looked at them as though they were stupid, and they felt heat rising in their cheeks. “No, traveller. Ri’saad is  _ a _ khajiit. Have you never heard of khajiit before?”

“... Ah, no. I’m sorry, there are no khajiit where I’m from.” They ducked their head, embarrassed a bit. “You - said you had goods for sale, then?”

He seemed happy to turn his attention to his business, and his tail flicked at just the tip as he led them inside the largest of the tents. Somehow, he’d fit a good many weapons, some few pieces of armor, and myriad other tools of the adventuring trade, all onto a handful of small wooden tables. They privately wondered if some form of magic made the tent larger on the inside, but no, things were just arranged in such a way as to maximize the space available. 

“Do you have a map I could buy?” They had realized, belatedly, that they were in desperate need of such an item, but they’d already left the city proper.

Ri’saad did, indeed, have a map for purchase, a fact for which they were eminently grateful. They noticed a few other pieces they wanted to buy - but no, they didn’t have nearly enough coin to go on a spending spree.

They had a sword. That would have to do, as far as weapons went.

Hopefully, they wouldn’t have occasion to use the damned thing.

* * *

Unfortunately, for them, such an occasion arrived before they even made their way to Riverwood.

A man - an elf - appeared from thin air, startling them horribly. “All right, hand over everything you’ve got.”

“Excuse me?”

They’d never been robbed before. Skyrim was full of new and exciting experiences.

“You heard me, fetcher. Hand over your valuables, and you’re free to go.”

They stared at him as though he was crazy. “Do I look like I have any money, to you?”

“Yes, actually.” He looked them over, and they couldn’t figure out what exactly he saw. “You look like you’re lousy with coin. I’m not going to ask again.”

Neko frowned. “No, seriously, I barely have enough to rent a room for the ni - ack!”

Before they could finish their sentence, he apparently decided he didn’t have time to debate their relative poverty: he’d drawn a pair of daggers, slashing one of their arms deeply. 

_ How do you kill a florentiner? You stab them, because they deserve it. _

They drew their sword, scrabbling backwards to avoid several more determined slashes. “Stand still and I’ll make this quick.”

“No, thanks - “ They knocked one of his blades away right before it could do some serious damage, dodged the other, and drove their own sword deep into his abdomen. He fell, clutching at his stomach, and oh.

Oh, that had … happened. They stared down in a kind of fascinated horror. He sobbed, pitifully, and their arm started throbbing painfully.

“... I’m … sorry?” 

He was dying, probably.

It was their fault.

They should feel some kind of way about that, they were fairly certain. Mostly, they felt kind of numb, watching him bleed out. A stray, treacherous part of them wanted to help him, but what could they even do? 

Nothing.

He’d brought it on himself.

They backed up, one step, another, then quickly ran down the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I personally headcanon all Dovahkiin as at least a little bit sociopathic, I don't actually know how I'd react to killing someone, on account of it having never happened in reality.
> 
> Shock seems a good bet, though.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Falkreath is very lively in a dead sort of way.

Alvor poured alcohol over the wound, tsking slightly. “This looks bad, but if you take care of it, it’ll heal up fine.”

“Thank you, for this - “

He shook his head. “No, thank you. There’s guards in Riverwood again, and I can breathe a bit easier, knowing my daughter’s that little bit safer at night.”

“... Ah, um. Yeah.” They nodded, still feeling a bit dizzy. “You’re welcome, then, I guess.”

He smiled at them, and began the process of stitching up the long cut on their arm. They’d had to roll their sleeve all the way up: the robe had stitched itself back together with some kind of enchantment, and it shed all the blood that had accumulated, but that just meant the wound was harder to get at.

It was fascinating work to watch. Yes, it hurt, but they weren’t really afraid of needles or anything. “You’ll want to keep a bandage over this.”

They nodded assent.

He finished it off, then wrapped a bandage tight - but not too tight - over the wound. “There you go.” He smiled. “So, where are you headed now?”

“Falkreath. Apparently, the Jarl there might take issue with your new guards, so I’m supposed to let him know about the dragon attack and how Jarl Balgruuf is just taking care of his people.”

Alvor made a face. “Siddgeir. I wish you luck with him, but he’s - well. Let’s just say that wealth and power have gone to the boy’s head.”

“Have you spoken to him before, then?”

The smith nodded. “Once, regarding some bandits in his hold. He informed me that Riverwood was Whiterun’s concern, and that I should be ‘bothering’ Jarl Balgruuf.”

“You’re kind of the leader, here, then?”

He shrugged. “I do what I can, where I can. Gerdur runs the mill, and she’s as much claim to that responsibility as I do.”

“Oh, I see.”

Another nod, and he patted their uninjured shoulder. “You be careful on the road to Falkreath, Neko. There’s worse than bandits in those woods, and I’d hate to hear something happened to you, understand?”

“Yessir.” They smiled, and impulsively wrapped him in a hug. “Thanks, Alvor. For everything.”

He shoved them away, gruffly, but it was almost-playful, and he was smiling all the same. “Ah, well, you’re a good kid.”

He didn’t realize they were probably as old as he was. It was kind of funny, truthfully.

_ Growing old is mandatory. Growing up is optional. _

It had been one of their grandpa’s favorite sayings. A twinge of wistful loss caught their heart, but they shoved it down before it could bring them to tears.

Honestly, it had been long enough that his death shouldn’t hurt like that, but it did.

Their mood brightened a bit as they followed the road. Falkreath hold was a beautiful woodland wrapped neatly around a massive lake. They saw a deer being chased by a wolf pack, and they paused to watch the hunt until it disappeared into the underbrush.

The land was wild, the air was clean, and they couldn’t help the sense of peace they felt.

They might not be much for long walks through town - particularly not uphill the entire way - but this area was remote enough to feel a bit like going on a hike, and the soft emerald of the natural world had called to them ever since they were young. 

Besides. It was good for them.

* * *

Falkreath city, on the other hand, had a strange fascination with death.

“Unless you’re here to bury someone, outsider, you’ll find Falkreath isn’t the place for you.” The man hefted a heavy urn as he watched them warily.

They blinked, blinked again. “I’m sorry?”

“This,” he held up the pot of ashes, “was Berit, my friend.”

Well. That was certainly something. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“He lived a good long life, truth told. Old man couldn’t stand the thought of being lost in the cold ground, though.” He peered at them. “Would you mind doing me a favor? My legs aren’t what they used to be - could you take these ashes to old Runil? He’s keeper of the graveyard, and he’ll know the proper blessings.”

They blinked owlishly for a moment. “I mean, I suppose.”

“You’re a good lass. Thank you.” He pressed the ashes into their hands, along with a small pouch of coins.

So, that was just a thing that was happening.

They asked a guard for directions, then made their way to the graveyard. It was cool and misty - moreso than the rest of the hold - and they imagined they felt the weight of death here. So many gravestones - so many little monuments to the lost.

They hadn’t realized a burial was in process. Nobody had thought to mention that.

“The God Arkay was once like us,” the priest was saying. “Bound to winding mortality. But he willingly gave up this existence, that we might better understand the vagaries of life and death. It is through the ebb and flow of this cosmic tide that we find renewal, and in the end, peace.”

A man wrapped his arm comfortingly around a woman’s shoulder, as the priest continued, unabated. “May the spirit of Lavinia, and all those who have left this world and its suffering know the beloved serenity of Aetherius, and may we one day rejoin them in eternity.”

The woman burst out crying, at that, and the man wrapped both arms around her. 

It was - they should say something. It wasn’t their place, but they should say something, nonetheless.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” they said softly.

The man’s eyes fell on the urn, and he nodded. “Yours, as well.”

“I - yeah.” They bit their lip. “May I ask who it was?”

Grief was etched plainly on his face, and it took a good bit of will for them not to join the woman in bawling their eyes out. They still had to blink back tears as he responded. “Our Lavinia - our little girl. She hadn’t even seen her tenth winter.”

“Do you know - how did she die?” 

He squeezed his wife’s shoulders tightly. “Sinding,” he spat the name like a curse. “Came through as a laborer - seemed a decent enough sort. She was - he ripped her apart, like a sabre cat tears a deer. I just - I don’t understand what kind of a man does something like that.”

“He - how?”

The man shook his head. “I don’t know. If you want to ask him yourself, he’s stewing in the pit while the Jarl figures out what to do with him. Please, leave us be.”

“I - understand. I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t their business, and yet something about it seemed off.

They wouldn’t likely do anything about it - what could they honestly do? - but a part of them was still curious. No matter how strong a man was, he shouldn’t be able to rip someone apart - should he? With his bare hands, it sounded like?

Regardless, they found the priest praying to a small shrine. “I have Berit’s ashes for you.”

“Ah - yes. He was a good man - few warriors grow to a fine old age. Thank you for bringing this to me - I’ll make sure he gets his rites.”

They nodded, and finally, they could wipe their eyes off on their sleeve.

It wasn’t their pain, precisely, but they could empathize with it a bit too much.

Death hadn’t been an easy topic for them in a long, long time.

* * *

None of this, however, had addressed the real reason they’d arrived in Falkreath. 

They approached one of the guards. “Hello - do you know where I might find the Jarl?”

“Why d’you need him?” The man eyed them suspiciously.

They should have expected a certain amount of hostility for that question, they supposed. “I have news from Helgen, about the dragon attack. I was told to bring word to Jarl Siddgeir.”

“Whoever told you that … pfeh. You’ll find him in the longhouse, at any rate, but it’d do you more good to talk to the steward, Nenya, for most things.”

They blinked, blinked again. “I - yes, thank you.”

Hopefully, they wouldn’t need to speak with Important People very often. It was more than a bit uncomfortable, especially knowing that, well, they were decidedly  _ not _ important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My family just kinda tends to look younger than we actually are. 
> 
> I recently got told I don't look old enough to vote. I'm thirty this year.
> 
> Enjoy the extra chapter for the day!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a deal is struck.

It didn't take long for them to learn why the guardsman had been so dismissive. 

Jarl Siddgeir was a pompous, stuck-up prick.

"The guards are looking sloppy today," the man's voice came from a little meeting room tucked off the main hallway. "I want you to halve their pay for the week."

Another man was trying to be tactful as he responded. "My Jarl, I can see about shaping them up, of course, but with the war on, we cannot afford to lose any men …."

"I would have thought a man of your experience could do more with less, but fine. Have it your way."

The human that walked out of the meeting room wore a crown adorned with antlers. His outfit consisted of a garish robe over a slight pot-belly and more jewelry than they had seen on most men. "Excuse me, are you Jarl Siddgeir?"

He made a point of looking down his nose at them. "Yes? What do you want?"

"I have an urgent message from Jarl Balgruuf. A dragon has destroyed Helgen, and as a precautionary measure, he has stationed troops in Riverwood. He thought you ought to know."

The man apparently didn't have time for dragons. "And  _ why _ are you pestering me with this?"

"My lord, I was instructed to bring this to your attention, specifically. Jarl Balgruuf was certain this information would be of interest."

He sniffed. "Fine. Consider your job here complete. Scurry along, now; I have more important matters to attend to."

They put on their best Customer Service smile. "Yes, my Jarl," and left. 

At least they had tried. Ultimately, that was all the more they could do. 

* * *

Dead Man’s Drink served as Falkreath’s inn.

Instead of a bell, a long string of large bones rattled when the door opened. More bones adorned nearly every surface, and above the firepit, there was an enormous array of bones and antlers designed to look something like a dragon. 

“Come on in - take a seat by the fire and get the cold out,” the innkeeper called, jolting them out of their observation.

They smiled, took a seat, and set about reading their spellbook.

Sooner, rather than later, they were going to need to look for some kind of honest work.

For that moment?

They could be content.

At least, until a man’s voice piped up. “Excuse me, madam, I don’t normally do this, but - have you got a moment to talk?”

“Um?” They looked up from their spellbook, frowning very slightly. “Are you - trying to flirt with me?”

He blinked, looking a bit like someone had smashed  _ him _ over the head with a lute. “Flirt? No - that wasn’t my intention at all! I was just meaning to say, I have something of a - proposition for you!”

“Riiiiight.” They smiled as he tripped over himself to clarify his definitely-not-flirting. “Sounds like flirting to me.”

He waved his hands to try and clear the air: “No, not that kind of proposition! I meant, I’d like to - do business with you! Ack, not like that - can we start again?”

Honestly, the boy looked kind of pathetic, and they couldn’t help but smile a bit wider. “Sure. Hello, I’m Neko. What’s your name?”

“Oh, thank the Divines. Right, let’s have another go - ahem. My name is Lucien Flavius,” he began, and the speech sounded a bit rehearsed. “I’m a scientist, philosopher, amateur wizard, and something of a musician, though I suppose that’s really more of a hobby. I couldn’t help but noticing that you seem … how can I put this … well-acquainted with the less savory side of Skyrim?”

They blinked. Blinked again. Well - as best as they could; one of their eyes was still swollen almost-shut. “You mean the bruises? Guy smashed his lute over my head.”

“What?” A gasp. “No, he  _ couldn’t - “ _

They nodded solemnly. “He could, and he did.”

“That’s - that’s barbaric!”

His indignation elicited a little bit of a laugh from them. “I thought so, too. Well, at the time it was more like, ‘oh, fuck, this is going to hurt.’ I was right, by the way.”

“I’m sure it did! Are you doing better, now?”

They shrugged. “Still have a bit of a headache, to be honest.”

“I can imagine.”

Closing their spellbook, they flipped their hood back and inspected the young man. He had shoulder-length blond hair - so many blonds! They couldn’t  _ all _ be ‘Blondie!’ - with soft, blue eyes, a soft face, soft hands, expensive-looking clothing with gemstones dangling from it, and - probably - soft muscles. “So - what do you need from ‘the less savory side of Skyrim?’”

“Ah - well, you see, I’m on a bit of an expedition. Academic, mainly.” He smiled, excitedly. “I find the province simply fascinating! The flora, the fauna, the ruins - both Dwemer and Nordic - the architecture, the politics - “

In other words, he probably knew more than they did about a good number of relevant topics.

“Trouble is, I’m really not much of a fighter. I know a few spells, and can just about swing a sword, but beyond that, I’m pretty useless in combat. Skyrim’s no place for a ‘milk-drinker’ like me - not on my own, anyway! So, I’m looking for someone to travel with!”

Oh. Oh, gods, he thought they were like, some kind of mercenary.

Oh, this poor boy.

“And you came to me, because …”

He looked embarrassed. “Well, you look like you’ve been in a fight or two? And, uhm, you’re not - how do I put this ... “

They waited, patiently, for him to continue.

“You aren’t as - intimidating - as some of the other sellswords I’ve seen about?”

They snorted softly. “That would be because I’m not a sellsword,” they admitted. “If anything, I’m an artist.”

“Well, how are you in a fight?” He looked hopeful.

They shrugged. “I guess I can hold my own?”

“Then you’re better than I am, by far! Would you mind awfully if I - tag along with you? I will, of course, compensate you most handsomely for putting up with me.”

That got their attention. “How much are we talking?”

“Say - three hundred septims, up front, and I top you up anytime we find something useful to my research?”

They pretended to consider, but honestly?

That was a pretty good deal. They couldn’t afford  _ not _ to babysit the pampered noble.

“All right, you’ve got yourself a deal.” They smiled. “But we’re not going anywhere tonight.”

He smiled. “You’re the boss!”

At the very least, that had been the  _ plan. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm counting all of these words even though most of them are lifted straight from the boy's mouth. You can't stop me; nobody can stop me.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sinding is a werewolf.

They tossed and turned, unable to quite get to sleep that night.

‘What kind of a man does that?’

What kind of a man  _ could _ do that?

Something about the situation bothered them, and they found they wouldn’t be able to sleep without answers.

Maybe it was the curse of being born to the Information Age; they were used to being bombarded with more bad news than anyone could realistically handle. 

Regardless, it  _ bothered _ them, and they found themself crawling out of bed, putting on their boots, and trying not to awaken the nobleman who’d attached himself to their side earlier in the evening.

He was a good kid, but he was still pretty obviously a kid. They’d guess he was in his early twenties, which - while not  _ that _ much younger than their lofty thirty - still roused a certain protective instinct in their heart.

So, maybe they’d decided to adopt him, too, after a fashion.

“Where are we going?” He whispered theatrically, suddenly wide awake and looking excited to join in their adventure.

They sighed. “To jail, apparently.”

“What?!"

They put a finger to their lips. “There’s a man, Sinding. Apparently he’s a laborer, or something, and apparently, he killed a little girl. I want to know why.”

“And you’re - you’re just - okay.” Lucien looked a little worried, frowning and casting his gaze about warily, as though someone was going to catch them up and about in the middle of the night. “So we’re going to go visit the murderer in jail?”

They nodded. “Precisely,” they dragged the word out. “Look, he’s behind bars. It’s probably the safest place he can be.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

* * *

As it happened, Sinding was, in fact, behind bars. There was a kind of a stone pit built for really nasty prisoners, apparently, with standing water in the bottom of it, probably so that whoever was inside didn’t get too comfortable. He was looking up at the night sky when they approached.

“Hello? Sinding?” Neko called gently, drawing his attention. “I was wondering - I wanted to hear your side of the story, please?”

He barked a harsh laugh. “My side of the story, huh. You wanted to come gape at the monster, more like, is that it?”

“I - heard you attacked a girl,” they admitted. “But what I don’t understand is why.”

He shook his head, miserably. “It wasn’t anything I meant to do, I can tell you that. I just - I lost control.”

What. “What?”

“I tried to tell them, but none of them believe me - it’s all on account of this ring.”

They frowned, peering through the bars at him - at the silver ring that adorned his finger, glinting in the moonlight. Something about it called to them. “That ring?”

“This,” he said, holding it up, “is the Ring of Hircine. I was told it could let me control my transformations. Maybe it used to, but I’ll never know: Hircine didn’t care for my taking it, and threw a curse on it.” He turned his hand, the moonlight glinting off the wolf’s head that adorned the ring. “I put it on, and the changes just - came to me. I could never guess when. It would be at the worst times, though - like … with the little girl.”

They frowned. “What kind of transformations?” They had a fair idea, but - better to hear it from his mouth.

“I don’t suppose there’s a point in keeping the secret if I’m going to die in here anyway.” He looked up at the sky again. “I’m sure you’ve heard of men who shift to beasts under the influence of the moons. I am one of them - a werewolf. It is my secret, and my shame.” He sighed, looking at the ring again. “That’s why I wanted the ring. It was said to give men like me control.” He held out his arms, inspecting them. “Now, I may look like a man, but I still feel the animal inside me, strong as ever.”

They rolled it over in their head. That was a hell of a raw deal. “So this ring belongs to Hircine - “ A pause. “Who is that, please?”

“Do you not know the Daedric Lord of the Hunt? He revels in the chase, and gave the ‘gift’ of lycanthropy to mortals. A powerful force, not to be crossed - as I learned, too late.”

They considered further. “And this made you attack the little girl … can you not just give the ring back? Break the curse that way?”

“I’ve been looking for a way to appease Hircine,” he admitted. “I want to give him back the ring, beg his forgiveness, but - I can’t do anything while I’m trapped here in this cell.”

They looked up at the sky through the bars, and he followed their gaze. The twin moons both shone full. “I know. It’s an irony. Without the ring, I’d already have shifted, and I could climb out of this pit with ease.”

Lucien grabbed their arm, dragging them back for a moment. “You’re not thinking of helping him, are you?”

“I’m not a werewolf,” they pointed out. “I could probably hold onto the ring with no problems, maybe even take it back to Hircine for him.”

Lucien looked a little bit aghast. “He’s a murderer!”

“He didn’t mean to. Without this Hircine, he wouldn’t have, he said so himself.”

He shook his head. “When you get eaten by the big bad wolf, don’t come crying to me.” He let them go, and they turned their attention back to the prisoner.

“You - “ Sinding looked at them hopefully. “You would take the Ring to Hircine?”

They nodded. It was probably not their best decision ever, but really, what could the ring do to them? “Sure. I’ll take it. Give it here.” They held their hand out, through the bars.

Sinding reached out, taking their hand. An odd light shone between them for a moment, and they felt metal contract around their index finger, cinching tightly. “Thank you, traveller. This means a lot to me. Now - I’d best get out of here while I still have my skin.”

He backed up, staggering, and oh, that looked painful. They could hear the bones cracking, reshaping, and they saw the way muscle rippled and twisted over him. His maw pressed outward, too-sharp teeth flashing in the moonlight, and he let out a yell of pain that twisted just as completely as his body, his voice deepening, tearing, raw and hoarse. 

The werewolf howled at the moons, as the guards swarmed the cell. Neko was pushed aside, and they did their best to get out of the way. 

“So,” they murmured to Lucien, glancing over their shoulder as they quickly left the barracks. “How about the fauna of Skyrim?”

It startled a laugh out of him, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter that's mostly dialogue lifted from the game - sorry!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which origins are discussed.

Their ‘dreams,’ such as they were, were restless. They spent the night bouncing from idea to idea, concept to concept, game to game. 

They had days like that, sometimes; it was a symptom of their ADHD. Nothing quite scratched the vague _itch_ at the back of their skull - today was just one of those days, but worse than usual.

Well, nights. They were, after all, quite nocturnal.

* * *

Waking in Skyrim didn’t exactly relieve that itch, though they noticed their headache had faded somewhat, as had the bruising on their face. One of the perks of having some kind of healing magic, they supposed; they knew that such injuries should have lasted a fair bit longer.

At least, they _thought_ it was healing magic. For all they knew, it was the placebo effect.

“You’re looking better!” 

Lucien was altogether too chipper for how early it felt, but they smiled at him all the same. “Thanks.”

“So, are we going hunting this morning?”

They looked at him with a puzzled sort of expression - frankly, they didn’t know what he was talking about.

“You know … Hircine, Daedric Prince of the Hunt? Father of Manbeasts?”

A slow nod.

“... Well, how did you mean to contact Him?”

_Shit._

“Uh, I don’t really know,” they admitted.

Lucien kind of just stared at them.

“So, let me just - recap, here. You took a cursed ring from a known murderer - a ring dedicated to a Daedric Prince - with no thought to your personal safety - and now you have no idea how to actually contact the Prince in question?”

They found themself scratching the back of their head. “Well, uh, yeah, I guess.”

“Okay then.” He shook his head, looking a bit exasperated with them. It wasn’t their fault - they were just … really bad at planning. “So, the bad news is, Hircine’s summoning day is traditionally the fifth of Mid Year, which is almost a year from now.”

They blinked, blinked again. Oh, that _was_ pretty bad. Especially if the ring turned out to have other negative consequences - it was bad enough they’d already tried and failed to remove the damned thing. It wouldn’t come off. “What’s the good news?”

“The good news,” he smiled, “is that, while you’ve been sleeping, _I’ve_ been asking around about local legends, and I think I have the solution.”

They nodded, gesturing for him to continue. “Go on.”

“So!” He clapped his hands together. “Apparently, there’s a local legend about a white stag, where if you kill it, the spirit of the hunt will commune with you.”

Another slow nod. “Slight problem. I’m - not really a hunter.”

“... That _is_ something of a problem, isn’t it.”

* * *

It turned out to be fairly miserable weather for hunting that morning, however. Rain poured down like the Gods themselves had upended a massive tub of water over Falkreath, sheets of water making even the short trip to the general store seem like an arduous journey.

Honestly, it was probably for the best; they had absolutely no idea how they were going to actually take down a deer of any sort, much less one that was supposed to embody the spirit of the hunt. 

What they _did_ find, however, was yet another spell tome. The merchant was selling it for a couple hundred septims, which they happily traded for the book.

This one was supposed to teach them to conjure up a spirit wolf. Wolves were natural predators, and they were certain they could use the spell to help them kill the stag.

So, the first half of the day was spent indoors, or scurrying from building to building. They covered the book with their body, shielding it from the wet, and returned to the inn, where they spent a couple of hours learning the forms that made up the spell.

Then, the rain cleared up, and more importantly, Neko was fairly confident they could cast the spell on command. 

(Lucien insisted on calling the resultant wolf a ‘puppy’ and cooing over it.)

It was, apparently, time to get hunting.

* * *

"I can't believe we're going to be communing with a Daedric Prince!" Lucien sounded - excited, they were pretty sure. Maybe a bit nervous, but mostly excited.

Neko, on the other hand, was starting to get something of a bad feeling from all of this. "About that …"

"Yes?"

They tried, really they did, to think of a better way to phrase the question, but ultimately, they couldn't. "What actually _is_ a Daedric Prince?" Lucien gaped at them. "I mean, from what Sinding described, this Hircine is powerful, apparently, along the lines of some kind of deity, it sounds like, but …"

"Oh, Gods. You don't - _how_ do you not know?"

They shrugged. "Where I'm from, we don't really have gods like that - not active ones, anyway."

"What? No, really, what?"

Another, slightly more uncomfortable shrug. "We don't really have magic, or mages, either - it's all fake - so, like … "

"But - that doesn't make any sense - none of that makes any sense at all - "

They sighed. Well, hell. "It's true, though - I just - woke up here. It's been a real shock for me, honestly."

"So, you're saying you're from a place that has no magic, no gods - could - no, if you were from a plane of Oblivion you'd surely know about the Daedra - "

This was probably going to get really metaphysical really quickly, but - "Honestly, I don't know. For a good while there I was convinced I was hallucinating - all of this." They gestured vaguely to encompass the massive pines of the old forest, and more broadly, Skyrim itself.

"Yes, well, I imagine it _would_ be rather a bit different from what you're used to, wouldn't it?"

They nodded. "Back home, 'curses' are generally the product of bad luck and circumstance, magic is all sleight of hand, and the gods, if they're real at all, are pretty much silent." 

"Oh, Gods - " He covered his mouth with his hands. "So you really have no idea what you've gotten yourself into, do you?"

A vague shrug. "Something, something, god of the hunt, something something, I might end up turning into a werewolf?" The possibility, while it had seemed ridiculous the night before, was one they'd been increasingly forced to contemplate. 

"Yes, well, while the Daedra aren't Gods in the same way that the Divines are, they're … oh, there's no good way to say this. They're mostly described as evil, self-serving Powers, the likes of which no mortal should tamper with."

_Now,_ he sounded worried. Good for him. 

"Well, I guess we're tampering."

His eyebrows knitted together. "Yes, I suppose we are."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing Bad Could Possibly Come Of This


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they meet Hircine.

The white stag was a genuinely beautiful creature, the likes of which Neko had never personally witnessed before. It was massive, easily taller than them, with enormous antlers crowning its huge head. 

_ Let's take it back to Falkreath, _ they thought, giddy.  _ It can be the new Jarl. _

But, so. 

The plan, such as it was, involved sending the summoned wolf around behind the majestic creature - which they'd done as it drank calmly from the clear water of the pond - then approaching from the front in a kind of pincer maneuver, catching the beast in between them.

What actually happened went something like this: 

The wolf circled around behind the stag, they crept closer from the front. 

A twig snapped. The enormous head lifted, startled. 

The wolf lunged, they lunged, and the massive hooves came crashing down on Neko's chest, knocking them prone and almost certainly leaving huge hoof-shaped bruises in their wake. 

Lucien caught the beast with his sword, while the spectral wolf circled and harried the beast, who seemed panicked, especially now that blood had been drawn. The sword ripped free from Lucien's hands as the stag spun in place, lashing out once again with its hooves. The wolf disintegrated into nothing, its translucent skull caved in, and then Neko finally reclaimed the presence of mind to cast the other spell they knew. 

Lightning erupted from their hands and engulfed the great stag, eliciting an inhuman scream of pain. They continued to channel the spell, the beast thrashing and trembling and finally, finally falling to its knees. It continued to tremble and twitch even after it was surely dead, the electricity coming in waves. 

And then its spirit burst from its body with the sound of a man's joyous laughter. 

"Didn't - we - kill you?" Oh, it hurt to talk. They focused that green light of healing inward, onto their chest, into their muscles, bones, and skin. Relief came in a cool rush, the 'spell' working to undo the damage done.

The stag's spirit, for his part, danced around the clearing for a moment before returning his attention to them. "Oh, yes, you did! And quite a fight it was, too!"

Once again, they'd gotten lucky. 

Gods help them. 

"Are … are you Hircine?"

The ghostly stag bobbed his head in an affirmative. "I am the spirit of the hunt - but a glimpse of the glorious stalker your kind calls Hircine." He turned his head, fixing one eye on them. "I have been watching you, mortal."

"I … see. Ah - would you be willing to lift the curse on this ring?"

He snorted, softly. "I might. But you must do something for me, first."

"What would you ask, my Lord?"

It seemed the proper address, anyway. He chuckled, snuffling at their hair. His breath was as hot and real as a living creature, and they reached up absently to fix the mess he made of their short curls. 

"The rogue shifter, Sinding, has fled to what he thinks is his sanctuary, just as a bear might climb a tree, only to trap itself." They could hear a bloodthirsty smile in the god's voice. "Go to Bloated Man's Grotto. There, you must rip the skin from his body and make it an offering to me."

They frowned. "He's done me no wrong. I won't hurt him." More to the point, they weren't sure they  _ could _ hurt him.

"There is no retribution in the hunt, child. What I ask is not your mortal concept of justice, but rather the blood course of a living hunt. Just as you slew this stag."

Of course. To this 'Daedra,' there wasn't any difference. 

"And if I refuse?"

The stag fixed them with one critical eye. "Others will join the hunt while you delay. It matters little - to me."

Then, the ghostly figure disappeared, leaving them alone with the very real - very solid - corpse. 

And Lucien.

"So," they addressed him. "That was a Daedric Prince?"

He nodded, seeming a bit overwhelmed. "You aren't seriously thinking of defying him, are you?"

"I mean … " They considered it. "I'm not going to skin a person, Daedra or no Daedra."

He frowned. "But this might be your one chance to cleanse the ring. And lest we forget, the man in question killed a little girl."

"Which is a death we can safely lay at the feet of the Lord of the Hunt. None of this would have happened, if not for Hircine."

Lucien frowned. "I suppose you're right, but … aren't you worried you'll end up, I don't know, turning into a werewolf or something?"

"Honestly? We'll cross that bridge if we come to it. For now … " They looked down at the corpse. "I don't suppose you know how to dress a deer?"

* * *

As it happened, neither of them really knew exactly how to get the most out of a deer. They did their best - it seemed  _ improper _ to leave the carcass for the beasts of the forest - but ultimately they only got a couple cuts of meat that were worth anything, the mostly-intact antlers, and a ragged pelt that had been butchered from the corpse with a sword.

All in all, not the best results, but they put a good deal of effort into it.

Hopefully, that counted for something.

By the time they’d finished, it was too late to even attempt to make it back to town; they were forced to try and set up the tent Alvor had given Neko. This was a slow and arduous process, made slower and more arduous by the fact neither of them really knew what they were doing.

Lucien pointed out that if anything, Neko should be the one to do most of the work, wasn’t that more or less what he’d paid them for?

They replied, of course, that they’d never claimed to be a wilderness survival expert.

It was something of a miserable experience, made worse by the fact that once they managed to get the tent in some kind of order, there was only space enough for the one bedroll. They had to try and fit inside of the tent together in order to avoid the next cloudburst that decided to open up on them, and the tent only barely held up against the outpouring of the Gods’ disfavor.

And then came the dreams.

They weren’t graced with a vision of home, this time - no. Instead, they were being chased, hunted,  _ hounded _ by a pack of animals, herded into a clearing where a tall and powerful man, clad in furs and bearing a massive spear, awaited their arrival.

Before the man stood a large basin, and within the basin rested a crimson fluid that seemed to them to be ambrosia. The howls of their pursuers became more distant as they approached, and he smiled beneath the skull he wore like a helmet. “Drink,” he commanded, and they could do no other but to obey.

They woke to  _ pain. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing worrying here, nope.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Neko is the werewolf.

_Fuck._

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Assuming they weren't spontaneously dying for no good reason, there was only one explanation they could think of for the all-over agony that had them in its hold. They had read enough werewolf stories to piece together a few coherent thoughts through the haze of pain.

First, they scrambled out of the tent, elbowing Lucien in the process. Then, they frantically began yanking their robe over their head, grateful in that moment that they'd removed their other clothing in order to sleep. 

They barely made it. Their bones began to crack and reshape, and they bit down on a pained whine. 

"Ffffffuck," they groaned, clutching at themself.

Muscle slithered around their changing skeleton, their flesh stretched and contorted, and finally, white fur burst forth from their skin, covering every part of their body. 

"Neko? Oh, Gods …."

They turned to inspect the boy, the human. Pack, he smelled faintly like them. 

A part of them, a distant, _human_ part, knew his name, knew who he was, understood his fear. 

"Please don't eat me?" They stalked forward, then pounced, pinning him to the ground. He squealed like prey, but he was not prey. He was a pup, all paws, and he needed to be protected. 

They licked his face from chin to forehead, reassuring him. He yelped again, turning his face away, then peeked up at them, seemingly surprised he still had his head. They made a point of licking him again. 

Poor, silly pup.

That done, they peeled away, looking around. The forest was full of all manner of sights and smells, and they felt the urge to hunt.

* * *

They ran through the night, simply enjoying the freedom of their new body. Running brought them profound joy - feeling the wind through their fur, the hard impact of their pads on the soft ground. They reveled in their new senses, and gloried in the raw power they felt. 

It was _easy_ to track, to chase, to bring down a deer of their own, and they feasted greedily on its flesh. 

Just before dawn, they returned to their makeshift den, satisfied with their efforts. They'd brought back part of the carcass for the pup; he needed food to grow strong. 

That done, they curled up outside the tent, yawned, and fell asleep.

* * *

A werewolf. 

They'd become a fucking werewolf. 

They lay in their bed at home, and they wondered about the metaphysics involved in their situation. 

They could feel that second consciousness below their own. Their senses seemed more acute - not that they needed that help. 

Would they be forced to transform in the real world? 

What even was the moon's phase tonight? 

Would their family be spared as Lucien had been?

There was just too much they didn't yet know, and it kept them awake throughout the day. 

* * *

Morning found them groggy, blearily stretching from where they’d fallen asleep on their robe. Not for the first time, they were grateful for the fact it was basically impervious to dirt and destruction.

They yawned, hugely, staring out at the forest as they stretched out, regretting the Wolf’s decision to curl up on the soft dirt. They were naked, and cold, but they couldn’t bring themself to care about that, just yet, because everything was just a little bit achey still.

Hopefully Lucien didn’t mind - 

“ - gah!” The boy shielded his eyes, his cheeks colored with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to - you were just - there and - “

They laughed, softly. “Give me a minute.” 

Gloves - somewhere. Gloves. Where - there. They tugged their gloves on, then the pants that fit under the robes, then the boots, then the hooded robe itself. It was a slow process, punctuated by further yawns, but they managed it all the same.

An idle sort of part of them wondered what exactly happened to their fur; they could use the extra warmth. 

Just another mystery for the ages, they supposed.

“Done,” they announced, and Lucien finally uncovered his eyes.

He smiled in shy, awkward relief. “That’s better,” he said, relaxing after a moment. “So, uh, how was … how was it?”

“It was good, I think.” Another yawn, as they considered the muddy memory of the transformation. “After the pain, anyway. Uh … brought you - part of a deer.”

Both of them regarded the corpse. It had been rather savagely devoured, but the Wolf had graciously left part of the hindquarters and some of the organs intact.

It didn’t look particularly enticing; they were quite full, and Lucien - well.

“... Thanks, but uh, no thanks?”

They nodded, stretching once more. “Okay. We’ll leave it for the wolves.”

Together, Lucien and Neko did their best to repack the tent. It had escaped unscathed, though apparently the bedroll had been torn to pieces. Fortunately, that was just a matter of rolling the blankets back together and tucking the pillow back inside.

From there, they spent the morning in quiet contemplation, making their way back toward Falkreath. 

If anyone would know where this ‘Bloated Man’s Grotto’ was, they figured it would be a local, and they were right; one of the guards was happy enough to mark it off on their map. Apparently, there’d been strange noises and lights coming from the place, and there’d been calls to clear it out; if an adventurer wanted to take care of it, they were content to help.

The bad news was it was a good long ways to the west, through the more densely-forested part of Falkreath hold. They didn’t make particularly good time, getting lost in the thick mist that clung to the ground there.

By the time they finally found the cave in question, night had already fallen, and they were honestly considering setting up their tent again.

“You,” the man’s raspy voice came from a cliff high above them. The werewolf was illuminated from behind: the moons hung full and crimson above him, beckoning, enticing. “Why?”

They could feel the urge to shift, to change, to run - but they couldn’t. It felt a bit like a sneeze that just wouldn’t come; a tension that pulled at all of their muscles simultaneously. 

“We came to warn you, Sinding,” Neko replied, shaking off the feeling as well as they could. “Hircine has called his hunters on you.”

The werewolf peered down at them. “He asked you to kill me.” It wasn’t a question.

“He did,” they confirmed.

A soft snort escaped the wolf’s maw. “And I would deserve it, too, wouldn’t I?”

“I - don’t know,” they admitted. “You never meant to kill that girl. Given the choice, you wouldn’t have. It was the ring, and the curse, both of which belong to Hircine.”

He continued to watch them, wary. “If you mean to kill me, I can’t stop you,” he began.

“I don’t.”

He looked up and over, and they heard a twig snap in the distance. Someone was coming. “You’re a part of this now,” he warned. “If you help me, I can be a powerful ally.”

Lucien looked worried, and they supposed he probably should. “Are we _really_ going to defy the Lord of the Hunt?”

“I guess we are,” they replied grimly.

A chain-clad hunter stepped out into the clearing. A bolt tore through the empty space beside Neko’s ear.

It had begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure this will end well.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hircine is pleased.

The hunter hadn't anticipated a mage, they decided, lightning spewing from their fingertips and frying the man alive. 

_ He's dead, _ a distant, disconnected part of their psyche remarked. 

_ He tried to kill us, _ they replied. 

The next of the hunters got a faceful of werewolf claws, as Sinding leapt down from the high cliff on top of her.

People of every shape and size seemed to have heard the Daedra's call; their wolf's translucent fangs tore through a Khajiit's throat while Lucien apologized to a dark-skinned man for gutting him. 

It lasted all of a few minutes, bodies littering their path as evidence of their grim work. 

Some were cooked, some were bloody, but all were dead by the time it was done. 

_ Gods, what a mess. _

"He wanted me to skin you, make an offering of your pelt." 

They felt queasy at what they'd done instead, but they couldn't have managed Hircine's task. They knew that, now - even if they'd managed to bring Sinding down, even if they could have brought themself to betray him. 

"Yeah, well." The werewolf turned to them, blood staining his maw. "I'm glad you didn't."

They nodded, still feeling a bit woozy. "I suppose that means I've failed."

"Not a failure, my servant." All three of them turned to see the ghostly stag that stood atop the cliff. Sinding did his best to genuflect, folding his body into a small ball of genuine remorse. "In defeating my hunters, you've turned the hunt inside-out - and  _ they _ were no base prey."

Neko peered up at the Lord of the Hunt. "Does that mean You'll remove the curse on Your ring?"

"Hah. You continue to amuse - and impress. Go forth, with my blessing." 

An unnatural light spilled forth from their hand, and they knew the ring's power was no longer tainted. It would do what it was meant to. 

They gently tugged the ring from their finger, offering it to Sinding.

"No - no. It's yours, now, your reward." They imagined his maw had curled into a rueful smile as he spoke. "I'll not make the same mistake twice."

Neko shrugged, slipping the ring back onto their finger. "So - what will you do, now?"

"I mean to make myself a life here - far away from anyone I might hurt." He looked distant, a little sad. "I know now that I can't live among people."

Poor bastard. Still - "I understand."

"You're welcome to stay here, for tonight," he offered.

They looked to Lucien, while Lucien looked back to them. "Ah - "

"Thank you," Neko began. "Really, but - this place is a little bit, uh, corpsey, isn't it?"

He laughed. They found themself laughing, too. Lucien didn't get the joke, and in honesty, they weren't entirely sure there was a joke. It was mostly just the relief of the moment. 

_ The threat is gone. The enemy is defeated. We're alive, and they aren't.  _

Wasn't that worth celebrating?

* * *

The night went quietly enough.

They felt - calm. More than anything, they felt a peaceful sort of calm, as though all was right in their world. It  _ wasn’t, _ not really, but still - they felt as though it was, maybe, going to be all right.

“I can’t believe we stood up to a Daedric Prince!” Lucien sounded awed by the prospect.

They shrugged, slightly. “I mean, he didn’t sound particularly upset by it.”

“That’s - true. Do you suppose that’s what he wanted?”

_ Honestly … _ they considered the question. “I don’t know. I think he wanted bloodshed, more than anything, and that’s what we gave him. He didn’t seem to see much of a difference between animals and people; maybe there’s not much difference to him between hunter and prey?”

“Gods. But it’s done, and we’re no worse for wear - ah, other than, you know, the whole … “ He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Werewolf thing.”

They looked up at the sky. Neither of them had really had the wherewithal to actually set up the damned tent, so they were resting under the stars, instead. “Yeah, other than the werewolf thing,” they agreed.

“What are you going to do about that?”

They looked over at him. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

They nodded. “Not a damned thing.”

“But …”

They shifted so that they could face him more fully, resting on their side. “What would you  _ suggest _ I do, Lucien?”

“I … I guess I don’t really know,” he admitted. “Aren’t you worried you’ll turn out like old Sinding?”

They shook their head. “I won’t.”

“How do you know?”

A soft sigh. “I won’t allow myself to turn out like him.” They rolled onto their back, again, and they watched the moons travel across the sky. “Besides, I have the ring.” A lopsided smile graced their lips.

“I suppose there is that …. “

They yawned, hugely. “Good night, Lucien.”

“Good night, Neko.”

* * *

For once, they settled into an actual dream.

The Wolf ran free, hunting, chasing, catching, killing.

They were happy.

* * *

The trip back to Whiterun passed quickly enough, for all that it took hours to get there.

Lucien, it turned out, had a lovely singing voice, and knew a few songs. Plus, he seemed happy to make up his own tunes whenever it suited him.

Besides that, they found they sort of enjoyed watching the countryside pass by.

It had been a while since they’d had a really pressing excuse to walk anywhere, at least, before they’d awoken in Skyrim, and they’d forgotten how nice it could be.

Then again, maybe that was their newfound - condition.

If they truly enjoyed exercise so much, surely they’d have done more of it before now?

Ah, well. There was no sense dwelling on it.

They arrived at Whiterun shortly before dusk. A strange, red-headed woman - clad in armor that showed more skin than it protected - looked over them idly as they passed.

Then she did a double-take, inhaling sharply through her nose.

Later, Neko would know what it was she scented.

For now, they just stared, puzzled, as she approached.

“The name’s Aela. I’m with the Companions. And  _ you _ are coming with  _ me. _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter fought me. It happens sometimes!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they're conscripted.

“The Companions? Of Jorrvaskr? Oh, this is so exciting!” Lucien was practically bouncing on his feet as Aela led them through the city.

Neko decided it was best not to fight the woman on this matter.

There was something - oddly familiar about her, something they couldn’t place, something reassuring and powerful. 

So they didn’t protest as they were led past a big ugly tree, toward a building that looked like nothing so much as an overturned boat. They didn’t protest as the woman led them into the building, past a fistfight, and down the stairs.

Something in the air smelled like home, and they felt profoundly  _ calm _ here.

Aela finally stopped before an old man in heavy armor, cutting off a discussion he’d been having with a much younger man. “My apologies, Kodlak, but there’s something that needs your attention.”

“What is it, girl?”

The woman looked over to Neko, then back to Kodlak. “I found this woman outside Whiterun. She’s in our territory - she’s got the blood.”

He nodded, as though unsurprised.

Neko, for their part, snapped out of their half-distracted reverie with a frown.  _ The blood? Surely they didn’t mean …. _

“And so a stranger comes to our hall.” The old man beckoned them forward. “Let me have a look at you, girl.”

A part of them chafed at the term, but they’d never exactly been one to stand up for themself, and that tendency found itself  _ enhanced _ as the older man looked them over. His eyes caught on Hircine’s ring, and they suspected he knew what it was.

He seemed old, and wise, the sort of person who knew quite a bit more than they let on.

They stood patiently for his inspection, and he seemed - satisfied, maybe - with what he saw. “A certain strength of spirit. You’ll do.”

“Master, you’re not thinking of  _ accepting _ this outsider, are you?” The younger man sounded aghast.

The old man Looked at the younger man with a faint frown on his face. “I am no one’s master, Vilkas, and last I knew, we had beds enough in Jorrvaskr for anyone with a fire burning in their heart.”

“... May I ask what it is I’m being considered for?”

All eyes fell on them, and they felt small.

“Of course, of course.” The old man laughed. “Have you heard of the Companions, girl?”

They shook their head.

“You must be new to Skyrim indeed. The Companions are a noble band of warriors, but more than that, we’re a family.”

They frowned softly. “I’m flattered, but ….”

“The alternative,” Aela piped up, “is a swift death.”

What.

_ “What?” _

Lucien echoed their incredulous statement with an outraged, _“What?!”_ of his own, but he was largely ignored by the others. Still, they appreciated his enthusiasm.

It was only, they had quite suddenly recognized the danger they were in.

The younger man, Vilkas, snorted softly. “Does your friend there know?”

“Know what?”

Dark eyes appraised them, and once again, they felt small. “About your  _ condition, _ girl. Are you going to make me spell it out for you?”

“Don’t be so hard on the girl,” the old man chided.

They looked between the three warriors, mutely, and a part of them recognized  _ something,  _ but mostly they were unnerved. How had these people found them out? The woman, Aela, hadn’t even - 

Several pieces clicked into place, and they gasped, covering their mouth with both hands.

_ “Now _ she gets it,” Vilkas said, rolling his eyes.

They could scarcely believe that these warriors were all - but no, it made sense, didn’t it?

“And you’re offering this to me because ….”

Aela sighed softly. “Look, icebrain, either you join us, or we put you down. It’s for your own good. This way, we can look out for you.”

“And make sure you don’t end up causing trouble.”

Kodlak made a little hum of disappointment, looking between the younger warriors. “Don’t frighten her off, hm?”

“Is this because she’s a werewolf?” Lucien asked, loudly enough he couldn’t be ignored.

Silence fell for several long moments. All eyes turned toward him as though they couldn’t believe what he’d just said.

Finally, Vilkas covered his face with a hand. “Yes, whelp, it’s because she has the beastblood.”

“And, forgive me, but how did you all - know that?”

Kodlak peered at him. “Close the door,” he said, finally.

Lucien was quick to obey. He seemed eager for answers, and far, far too trusting.

“It’s because they share it.” Neko said it quietly, looking between the other three werewolves. “Isn’t it?”

The old man nodded gravely. “You understand, this is a secret for a reason.”

“Of course,” they nodded.

People feared that which they didn’t understand. In the case of lycanthropy, they’d be right to fear even if they  _ did. _

_ Like a sabrecat tears a deer …. _

“So!” Kodlak clapped his hands together, dispelling the gravity of the situation. “Will you join us?”

Neko considered. They looked back to Lucien, then to the others. “What happens to him?”

“Hm.” Kodlak looked to the soft nobleman thoughtfully. “How are you in a fight, boy?”

He blinked, blinked again, pointed at himself. “Me? Well, I know a few spells, and I can just about swing a sword - “

“He’s learning,” Neko offered. “He helped me face some of Hircine’s strongest hunters.”

The others shared a sharp Look at that. Kodlak made a pleased noise. “Is that so.”

“I’ll join your - family - if you’ll have me. But I’m not abandoning him,” Neko said firmly.

Kodlak nodded. “Very well. You will both join the ranks of the Companions.” A pause, and he regarded them both very seriously. “Don’t disappoint me.”

Neko smiled. “I’ll do my best.”

“See that you do. You’re dismissed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one came out just a bit shorter than usual, but hey, sometimes that happens, too.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they got a montage.

They were instructed to pick a bed and fall into it when they were tired, and, well, they were tired. 

Back on Earth, they discovered that their roommate had ordered wings - enough for everyone - and the wolf inside them especially enjoyed gnawing the meat from the bone. 

They tried not to worry about what it might mean that the wolf had joined them in their extraplanar (?) ventures. Would they be forced to shapeshift? How would that happen in a world where magic just didn't  _ work _ like that? Was it merely a facet of their own personality that Hircine had uncovered? The questions gnawed at them as they chewed on the meat.

All too soon, they were dragged from their reverie. Reality shifted and distorted around them as someone shook them awake. 

"Mnuh?" They asked the question inelegantly, wiping drool from their mouth and sleep from their eyes. "Wassup?"

It was Aela. They were sort of starting to resent the woman. "Wake up, new blood. It's time you and I did some training."

* * *

'Training,' as it happened, basically entailed being led outside the gates of Whiterun and learning how to call upon their wolf.

Which meant standing in an open field, naked as the day they were born, and trying to think Wolf Thoughts.

They'd never done so deliberately, and that first time, it was something of a challenge. As with magic, they were really just stumbling around in the dark, until finally, they reached for that mental  _ sense _ of being  _ something else. _ Suddenly, their skin didn't fit quite right, and they leaned into that discomfort, searching for the keys to unlock the change. 

"That's it, new blood."

They stepped back. The wolf surged forward. 

The world came in hundreds of vivid shapes and smells, their senses enhanced a hundredfold. Colors were less important, but then, they hardly needed them. 

Then, then the pain hit, and a distant part of them wondered why they would do this to themself  _ deliberately.  _ It was agony beyond description, as even their smallest bones were rearranged. They tried to focus on the fact that they knew this would pass - they knew the pain was temporary - but a series of expletives pushed themselves past their twisting maw nonetheless. (The words came out unintelligible, but the point was hardly communication.)

"Hurts, doesn't it. Come on, you're almost there."

As suddenly as it began, the pain stopped, and the wolf stood on shaky legs, regarding the woman warily. 

_ Aela, _ their human side provided a name, was also a wolf, but she still wore her human skin. She was speaking words, words they couldn't bring themself to care about. Something about 'honor' and 'glory,' two concepts that even their human side struggled to define - instead, they immersed themself in their new senses. 

There was a stream nearby, burbling cheerfully. They could smell the fresh water, and they knew it was safe to drink. 

The scent of deer was strong on the tundra, and they wanted to hunt, to chase, to rip and tear. 

Their human side had always buried those urges. 

Now, they ran, enticed by the lure of fresh game. 

Aela could join them, or not. They didn't care. She wasn't their problem. 

* * *

Eventually, they woke from the hazy not-quite-dream of  _ hunting _ and  _ chasing _ and  _ feasting.  _ The sun was just peeking over the horizon, and they knew it was time to return. They made their way back to Aela, who led them back to their things. 

Changing back was just as painful, and they whined, softly, the entire time. 

_ "Fuck," _ they finally managed, curled into a small and shivering ball. 

Aela stood over them, waiting patiently. "You get used to it. Come on, new blood. It's time to get back to Jorrvaskr." She smiled an unkind smile. "Wouldn't want to miss your first day's lessons, after all."

* * *

It became something of a rhythm. 

In the mornings, they learned about bladework, alternating between one- and two-handed weaponry. They favored the sword: after all, that was what they had practiced with back on Earth.

Their afternoons were theirs to enjoy uninterrupted, and so they studied more of how magic worked. They figured out the shape of lightning in all its myriad forms. Electricity was already something of a fond friend, and they enjoyed the low hum of it under their fingertips. 

The court wizard sold them a tome that promised to teach them the basics of restoration magic - particularly, how to commune with another person or creature in order to discern how they were doing.

Lucien volunteered himself for their practice, though he sputtered a bit indignantly when their initial attempt suggested that his urine glowed in the dark. 

(It turned out they'd made a mistake; he was perfectly healthy. They still used it as an opportunity to poke fun at him.)

At night - well.

They found themself jealous. Lucien got to sleep his nights away. He didn't have the beastblood.

He didn't have to learn control. 

Aela took Neko out to the tundra every night, coaching them through their transformations. Soon enough they could shapeshift on demand.

It hurt in the moment, and it left them achy all day, but Aela insisted it was important.

She insisted that they could do it.

She insisted that they had to do it.

So they did it, and they ached, and they found themself napping on their spell tome as often as not. 

Within a week, their body had changed dramatically. 

It wasn’t immediately apparent under the baggy robe they wore, but muscle had started to replace fat nearly everywhere.

_ Lose weight and get fit with this one weird trick! _

Apparently, their nightly transformations burned through their reserves like nothing else. On the plus side, it was serving to sculpt them into a proper hunter. Something fit for Hircine’s hunts.

On the minus side, they were well past the point of exhaustion when Skjor finally called on them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Montaaaaaage!
> 
> This chapter didn't want to be written, but I wrote it anyway.
> 
> Go me.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Neko frankly can't be bothered.

The day had dawned cold, and wet, and miserable. Aela had insisted that they could manage a second transformation in one night, which ended with their wolf curled up and hiding in a hollowed-out tree, exhausted and aching and profoundly unhappy. 

Eventually, after sleeping so fitfully they didn't even dream, they woke in their human skin, shivering and naked. Aela had found them, and with an unimpressed snort, she threw their clothes at them. 

Hate was a strong word, a powerful emotion that they couldn't quite muster for that woman. 

They didn't like her, though. 

"Come on, whelp. Skjor wants to talk to you."

They followed her back to Jorrvaskr, feeling a bit moody about everything. Their bones ached, their skin felt too tight on their body, everything was wrong. A part of them noticed the decorations that had gone up, but they didn't know what they were for, and they couldn't bring themself to care.

They were too fucking tired for that. 

Skjor was an older man, with one scarred-over eye that stared blankly into space. The other was sharp, and they got the sense that the man saw all the way down into their soul.

Well, if he didn't like what he saw, he could get fucked along with Aela. They met his gaze, almost defiantly, and that seemed to startle a laugh out of him. 

"I see Aela has been running you ragged, new blood." He smiled, but it didn't quite meet his eyes. "That's good. You needed someone to whip you into shape."

They just kind of looked at him, too tired to be properly annoyed. "You wanted to see me,  _ sir?" _

"Yes. It seems the Jarl of Whiterun has a job worthy of our time." Skjor looked them over. "Or, more accurately,  _ your _ time, new blood. We've decided this will be a good test of your skills."

They watched him, a light frown touching their lips. "What kind of 'job?'"

"You'll be reporting to Farengar, the court wizard. Apparently, he needs someone to fetch something for him, and we've decided you'll be doing the fetching. It should be easy enough for you to manage." 

They still sort of resented the fact that they didn't get a say in any of this, but they tried not to let it show. 

"Take that boy with you, Lucien - it'll be good for him to get some experience. You're dismissed."

* * *

It turned out that the decorations they'd seen were for the Harvest Festival, and although they'd been told to report to the court wizard right away, Neko couldn’t be bothered. They needed a rest, more than anything else, and besides, apparently, it was a  _ holiday. _

Celebrating what, they didn’t know, but there was a goat, and they spotted little Lucia trying to tie a ribbon to its horns. She was very serious about her work, but the goat startled and fled before she could finish. Poor thing.

“So - what’s all this?” They asked the question to Lucien, rather idly, as they watched Mikael playing a wooden recorder. He wasn’t very good.

They rather suspected he wasn’t good at much of anything.

Maybe they were just judging him a little harshly. Maybe he deserved it. They were sort of sour on everything right about then, and he was an easy target.

“This? This is the harvest festival - don’t you have anything like it, back - you know - wherever you’re from?”

They shrugged slightly, uncertainly. “Kind of?”

“Really?” He pried. “What are your traditions like?”

They considered. “Well, there’s a feast, so that much looks to be roughly the same, and everybody is supposed to think of all the things they’re thankful for. No goats, though.”

“Huh. You know, chasing the goat was probably one of my favorite parts of the festival, when I was young.”

They smiled. “It does look kind of fun, but I’d better not.”

“Because you’re a grown woman?”

They shook their head. “No; because I don’t want to give the poor thing a panic attack.” They’d noticed, the goat seemed to be able to scent them, fleeing any time it got close.

Then again, they could scent  _ it. _

A part of them yearned to join the chase, the hunt - but, again, better not.  _ They _ wanted to tear the skin from its bones and eat it in the middle of the town square - which would probably traumatize the children and spoil the mood for everyone else.

So, yeah.

“So, when are we going to go do that job Skjor assigned us?” Lucien swirled his fruit juice around in a goblet. As it happened, he didn’t drink alcohol any more than they did, usually.

Neko shrugged. “Eh. Tomorrow. I need at least a day’s rest before I do anything important.”

“Is that why we’re staying at the Bannered Mare tonight?”

They nodded. “That is, in fact, why we’re staying at the Bannered Mare, tonight.”

“Did you think to tell anyone about your plans?”

They shook their head, taking a sip of their mead. This ‘honningbrew’ stuff was actually pretty damned good, in their estimation - but then, they’d always liked honey. “Nah,” they admitted. “They didn’t give me a deadline, and frankly, I don’t care.”

“Isn’t that … you know, a little irresponsible?”

Another shrug. “Yeah, probably.”

“... As long as you know what you’re doing, I suppose.”

The rest of the night passed in relatively good cheer. Vilkhelm stopped by, and they almost got his name right on the first try, which was close enough that they’d consider it a success.

Admittedly, they got a little more drunk than they fully intended to, but it was all to the good.

They’d been pushed so hard, this last week, that they desperately needed a break.

Naturally, therefore, they woke with a hangover - not to mention their fair share of regrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't actually a full week, in game. Not only did I get kind of bored of the training montage, but also, I completely forgot about the Harvest Festival!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they are assigned a job.

They dreamed of home, and talking to their friends. Aela hadn't been particularly good company, and Gods, but they needed a moment of normalcy more than anything. 

Waking in Skyrim felt like a cruelty, made worse by their aching head.

At least this time, it was only their head.

Directing the flow of healing energy toward their skull lessened the dizzy, throbbing pain enough that they could think, and from there, they realized that at some point during the drunken revelry, they'd crawled into bed with Lucien. 

Both of them had remained fully clothed, but still, a part of them worried how the boy would react. 

They hadn't meant anything by it. Apparently, the wolf in them found comfort sleeping beside packmates, and Lucien had become classified in their head as something like a younger brother over the last week.

But what if he came to the wrong conclusions?

"Neko?" Confusion wrote itself on the younger man's face. "What are you …?"

They had started to get up. "Mmn? I  _ was _ sleeping."

"That makes sense," he mumbled, not yet fully conscious. "Only the one bed."

Oh, he was cute though. Like a puppy - all paws. It was almost a shame to have to wake him. 

They stretched a bit on the bedside, then located their shoes, tugging them on. A huge yawn escaped them, and then they were more or less ready for - breakfast, honestly. They had found that they were nearly always hungry, these days. 

"C'mon, sleepy-head. We've got work to do."

* * *

After breakfast, they made their way back up to Dragonsreach, the Jarl's palace. It was no less impressive on their second viewing. 

"Do you know, Dragonsreach was meant to hold a live dragon captive?"

They looked at Lucien, a bit incredulously. "It's made of wood," they pointed out. "Wood burns."

"Yes, well," he shrugged, looking a bit uncomfortable. "I'm not going to question the ancient nords about that one, are you?"

Fair point. "I suppose not."

The court wizard was a horribly grouchy man, and a part of them wondered if he, too, was suffering from a hangover. Then, he got to speaking, and they realized he was also an  _ asshole, _ which rather dispelled any sympathy they might have had.

They had already decided to let Lucien handle the finer conversational points, and thank the Gods for that. 

With how far this "Farengar" had his head up his own ass, they weren't entirely certain they could keep from saying or doing something rash.

The long and short of it was that there was a stone tablet - a map of ancient dragon burial sites - supposedly interred in Bleak Falls Barrow. Apparently, the dragons had been gone from Tamriel for a very long time, and now that rumors had begun circling about their return, Farengar had decided to research their disappearance - and reemergence - in earnest. 

But, such trivialities as fetching his own research material were beneath him. Hence sending for the Companions, which resulted in Neko being assigned the task. 

By the way, while they were running errands, would they be so kind as to deliver a package of frost salts to Arcadia, just down the hill at her shop? They were, after all, far more suited to menial labor than he was. 

Lucien ushered Neko out of the room before they could formulate a properly indignant response. 

The court wizard wasn't worth the effort, they decided, feeling grouchy all the same. They hoped, privately, that he set his own robes on fire doing his research. Bastard. 

“Bit of a - well - condescending chap, wasn’t he?”

They nodded. “Just a bit,” they agreed, holding their fingers close together to denote ‘a bit’ - and then spreading them as wide as they would go. “Or a lot.”

“Yes, well. You see a bit of that in academia, but I’ve never much cared for people like that.”

Another nod. “If he’d made it a gender thing, I might have just hit him,” they admitted. “I had enough of that working in tech support.”

“Tech - what? Sorry …”

They winced. Right. Medieval. “Uh, think like, helping people figure out why their spells aren’t working? Only it’s with machines.”

His eyes lit up. “You worked with machinery? Extensively?”

“Eh … kind of? I mostly did software troubleshooting, uh - explaining why the machine wasn’t behaving like it should, not - you know - getting into the guts of the thing.”

He looked absolutely fascinated by that. “Marvelous. And this was a  _ job _ in your society?”

“Mhm.” They hadn’t told him much of what their home was like, but they’d apparently said enough for him to catch on that it was  _ very different. _ “Everybody back home  _ has _ \- er - machinery - but not everybody knows how to maintain their stuff, so - that’s where I came in, you know?”

He nodded, thoughtfully. “And, so, working with machinery like that was considered a man’s job?”

“Eh. Some people are idiots no matter where you go,” they said, truthfully. “I knew just as much as any of my male coworkers did. Sometimes more. It’s just, when people see you as a woman, you know - some of them get the wrong impression.”

He turned toward them fully, and they came to a stop. “See you as a woman?”

“Ah, right.” They ducked their head, running their fingers through their hair. “So - like - I don’t really identify with any gender - “

He nodded, enthusiastically. “Right, right, forgive me, may I ask for your pronouns, please?”

“I go by they/them. Ah - I suppose I’ve been making assumptions. May I ask for yours?”

He smiled. “I use ‘he/him,’” he said. “But thank you, for asking.”

“Anytime.” They smiled in turn. 

Some people could be assholes, but they were happy to confirm that he wasn’t one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The duality of man: some are assholes. Some aren't.
> 
> I figure he took the Tamrielic equivalent of a Humanities class back at the Arcane University. AKA: I figured he should know about the pronouns thing, and I didn't want to waste time on re-explaining the wheel, so to speak.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
